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“she clasped her hands behind her head’’ 

( Fron tis A ngelward) 








ANGELWARD 

C0X8»»»»»X8»X83X8»»a»»X8»MMMSC85»»»^ 

By 

GRANT GORDON 



BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO. 

835 BROADWAY. NEW YORK 



riiisRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

OCT 18 iSOf 

Copynirhl Entry 

(9e>. H, Kio-y 

GLASS CU XXc„ No. 

9S^/ 

COPY B. 


Copyright, 1907. 

BY 

BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO. 


All Rights Reserved. 


ANfiELWARD. 

CHAPTER I. 

A SNOW-BIRD. 

It was the twentieth day of December; the 
wind blew a hurricane and sent the falling snow 
in great swirling clouds ; huge drifts ten and fif- 
teen feet high were forming in places, and on the 
level it was four feet deep. This was the first 
great storm of the season, and this the second 
day of it. It was impossible to see out of the 
small window-panes of the manse, and no one 
passed, for as far as human life was concerned 
it appeared to have vacated this part of the 
country, except, where it was housed up around 
roaring fires, where the men sat around the great 
double stoves, smoking their pipes and reminis- 
cencing on former storms. ^‘Away back in ’6o 
there had been a’ awfu’ ane. Ye couldna see the 
tap o’ th’ steeple for snaw an’ thet was th’ year 
Sammy McBain died an’ they couldna bury him 
for a week. It was a’ awfu’ time,” and Sandy 
McPhail, rolling some tobacco in his palms re- 
plenished his pipe. 

“Man, I ken a mair fearsome ane, when auld 
Jean died. Ah! it was fearsome.” 

“It was nane sae bad as mine; I mind it; it 


Angelward 


n 

was bad eneuch; but nane sae bad, and Sandy 
puffed away contentedly. The women moved 
about their duties, fired Parthian shots at the men 
for “bein’ i’ th’ way;” and drawing their 
small plaid shawls around their shoulders, drew 
themselves within themselves, wishing that 
summer were here again. The wind howled 
around the houses; every once in a while giving 
vent to a most savage unearthly shriek as if un- 
able to control itself any longer; it appeared as 
if Nature had gone mad, had lost all control of 
herself, for like a wild animal she tore and raved 
as if to extinguish herself. To the inmates of 
the manse she seemed as if determined on hurling 
the whole structure to the ground. It was now 
twelve o’clock at noon and a few anxious peo- 
ple were assembled there, not anxious over the 
fury of the storm, but anxious over another 
event; for with this storm a little stranger had 
entered this world and the anxiety which always 
attends such an advent had not yet subsided. 
The wee snow-bird had been dressed and was 
now lying warmly wrapped in blankets in an old 
woman’s arms. It was a tiny, wailing, scarlet 
mass of humanity; a wee insignificant being and 
yet what possibilities lay latent in it? So far it 
did not appear to feel at one with its new envir- 
onment; certainly it had not arrived when Na- 
ture was all smiling and then this was a tem- 
pestuous time in other respects, for it was the 
year of the Franco-Prussian war. In this quiet 
fishing village not much interest was displayed 
in the strife between two powerful nations; for 
it affected them alone through their purses, food 


Angelward 


3 


being more expensive; but it was not much that 
they purchased from the outside world. We are 
selfish animals; here no blood was being shed 
in defence of right and home; no brother, no 
father was being mourned for; but only at the 
most a few pence. 

The woman-child born into this world on this 
stormy day appeared to be in a dissatisfied 
frame of mind. Whether it was, that by some 
occult influence she at once recognized it as un- 
congenial to her we know not; but at any rate 
she was not in a good humor; she did not suck 
her fist in perfect contentment, but she squirmed 
and wailed. “A crosser baby I never did see; 
nothing suits you. One would think that you 
had made a mistake. What’s the matter wi’ 
ye ?” 

^'Not much wonder,” a tall, spare spinster re- 
marked. “It is an awful day to be born on. 
She’ll have a rough road to hoe or I am mis- 
taken, and on Saturday too; she’ll have to work 
hard for her living. A girl, too ; more’s the pity. 
Boys can work, but the world is against wom- 
en.” 

“Yes, Miss Fenwick, that’s a’ true; but maybe 
it’s just as well for’t t’ ken’t at once. Life’s hard 
onyway ye lookit at ’t; so it seems t’ me; I’ve 
never had a bairn oot o’ me airms sence I was 
big eneuch t’ hold ane.” 

“I do not know anything about them ; but this 
one ought to be better tempered, Mrs. Black.” 

“It isna a’ ways their ain fau’t; cross mithers 
an’ worrited anes make cross babies.” 

“But she was not worried.” 


4 


Angelward 


*'Mair nor you’d think, maybe,” there’s ’em thet 
worrits to theirsels.” 

“But what had she to worry over ?” 

“Thet’s her ain business; no oors.” 

“Some folks would not be satisfied if they had 
the world; she’s one of them.” 

Just then a small boy with a dishevelled head 
and neglected appearance appeared in the door- 
way, as if curious and yet afraid to eiiter ; the old 
woman seeing him motioned to him and said: 
“Come awa’ i’ Tiddy an’ kiss th’ wee angel.” 

Teddy was uncertain, but approached in an 
abashed, mystified manner, stood on tiptoe 
and peered rather curiously at what could be 
seen of the wee red face buried among the folds 
of a blanket, then gazing at it doubtfully for a 
few moments, he pointed at it, and looking dis- 
gustedly at 'Mrs. Black, said: “that ain’t no 
angel ; that’s a kid.” 

“Yes, it’s an angel sent richt doon frae God.” 

“No, Granny Black, that ain’t no angel ; angels 
live in heaven ; they can’t live down here. Angels 
have wings and that hasn’t,” and he made an at- 
tempt to prod the blankets. 

“You’ll hurt her. Kiss her an’ be gude.” 

“No — o, she’s too red,” and Teddy’s eyes 
sought the door. Then thoughtfully gazing at 
the blanket-bundle, he said: “How’d it” — point- 
ing to it — “get here?” 

“Why, it came in th’ snaw-cloods ; a wee snaw- 
bird.” 

“No — o, it ’ud freeze.” 

“Why ask me, thin?” 

“Cause it had t’ come some way and you ought 


Angelward 


5 

to know not to tell me lies. Grown-ups always 
do. I want to know.’' 

“Teddy, I shall put you to bed for talking to 
Mrs. Black in this way. She did not see it 
come.” 

“She knows and I want to be told.” 

“Little boys should not ask questions. You 
will know soon enough.” 

“I want to know now.” 

“Well, Dr. Ross brought it.” 

“Where did he get it?” 

“He sent an order to God and God sent it to 
him.” 

“H’m! he must be kep’ awful busy makin’ 
’em,” and he pointed incredulously at the small 
stranger. 

“Go and kiss the little sister and then come 
away with me.” 

“Sister ! I thought it was an angel. Sisters 
ain’t angels unless they’re dead. I don’t want to 
kiss her.” 

“You are a naughty boy, Teddy, and God will 
take little sister away if you don’t love her.” 

“Then He can.” 

“But will it not be nicer to have her to play 
with than to have her looking down and saying: 
'O, brother Teddy is a bad, bad boy.’ ” 

“Do angels see all we do?” 

“Yes, of course.” 

“Well, she’d better stay then, for I don’t want 
her tellin’ tales to God. All girls do. Girls is no 
use.” 


6 


Angelward 


CHAPTER II. 

DOLLY. 

Time passed slowly away in the village by the 
sea shore; monotonously so at times to some. 
The baby was growing, was now taking notice 
and demanding a satisfaction for its soul. Seem- 
ingly it comes into the world with such a supply 
of heavenly love as to supply its ends until its 
outer consciousness of its new environment 
causes it to recognize its new abode, and then it 
tends to adapt itself and demands love from out- 
side sources. This baby was now attempting to 
do so, but it was having rather a hard time of it, 
for the mother lavished her affection on ff^ddy; 
the father seemed drawn to it, but in his peculiar, 
Scottish, masculine manner. He rarely amused 
her, fancying that a woman’s task ; but he stopped 
to smile upon her and chirrupped to her as she 
lay in her mother’s arms. She in her turn smiled 
and cooed at him and hid her wee face in her 
mother’s bosom. 

Donalda Fenwick grew as all other children 
grow; she said “cute things” at times; people 
laughed ; she was in everybody’s way at all times, 
and she copied her elders. In this respect she ap- 
peared to be an adept ; nothing appeared to escape 
her notice; she was similar to other children in 


Angelward 


7 


many respects, and yet she showed a marked in- 
dividuality, which caused her farther to smile and 
her mother to remark impatiently, ‘‘queer child.” 
She appeared to have a mind of her own, and 
what was more she used it. At times she was 
kept in subjection by superior forces, but Don 
thought her own thoughts and submitted only be- 
cause she had to. Her fiery little soul often re- 
belled and beat its helpless wings against the hard 
iron pillars of “You must, you naughty child.” 
Reason would have developed her more wisely, 
but parents deem it absurd to reason with a child, 
an irresponsible being. Still, is not the child 
father of the man? an unreasonable creature, 
which must be beaten or bread and watered into 
submission. 

Don was of an argumentative disposition, 
strongly Scotch in temperament, and therefore 
she always demanded a reason for an action; in 
her own small mind she made an attempt to rea- 
son, but as yet she rather felt than knew ; she was 
imitative, which is a trait of undevelopment, the 
outcome of memory and imagination handed 
down by heredity or from our own few small ex- 
periences and not as reason the outcome of our 
fuller, maturer experiences. Her likes and dis- 
likes were strong. 

To Teddy and Don the time passed slowly and 
for the most part happily ; a few days seem ages 
to children ; but pleasant ages. These two were 
good friends, but not exactly companions, for a 
boy of Teddy’s age is prone to look condescend- 
ingly upon small girls, but when not engaged 
with “the other fellows” he played with her, and 


8 


Angelward 


she thankfully accepted this scant masculine at- 
tention. Don amused herself ; her dolls were a 
source of great comfort; with her other indi- 
vidual traits she was of a theological strain of 
mind, many children are. It was a habit of hers 
to follow closely at her father’s footsteps as he 
slowly paced up and down a small strip of green 
lawn, busily engaged in thinking aloud a sermon 
for the coming Sabbath. Don never interrupted 
him, but maintained a whispered silence in which 
she communicated her thoughts to an old, bat- 
tered, knitted doll by name of Dolly Varden. 
Dolly had seen service, use and abuse both; for 
Teddy had whacked her unmercifully, much to 
Don’s sorrow, for to her Dolly was real and liv- 
ing. To-day she hugged her endearingly and 
cooed sweet words to her, keeping an eye on her 
father’s progress all the time as well. At last, 
ceasing to utter strong sentences, he relaxed his 
stride and Don knew that he was free, so step- 
ping up close to him she stood by him and allowed 
him to tenderly pull a stray lock of brown hair. 
“What are you doing, Don ?” 

“Nursing Dolly; she’s got toothache, hasn’t 
you, Dolly ? Poor dear !” 

“How can she?” 

“She has ! she tells me.” 

“How, Don ? Dolly cannot speak.” 

“Yes, she can. I know ; something tells me.” 

“But, child, you are dreaming. You must not 
talk like this; it is not telling the truth. You 
want to go to heaven, don’t you?” 

“Yes ; only if Dolly goes too. Ted says there 
ain't dolls in heaven.” 


Angelward 


9 


*‘No, of course not/' 

‘*That’s queer. Hasn’t God any little girls?” 

“Yes ; but they are little angels and have wings 
and play on harps, and don’t require dolls to make 
them happy. Will that not be nice?” 

“Yes, but God must be a funny man not to le. 
them have dolls. Fathers do down here. I fee 
as if God’s good and, and yet people make Him 
funny. Teddy says he ain’t never goin’ to heaven, 
’cause it’s too quiet for boys.” 

“He does not mean that, Don.” 

“God’s got an awful voice.” 

“Why! when did you hear it?” 

“Last night ; He roared and roared and roared 
till I was frightened. Mother said He was angry 
and had to shout to bad men. He swore, He did, 
and I didn’t think God would.” 

“Why ! no child, that was only thunder. You 
must not be afraid of it. God never swears.” 

“Well, it was most like old Jim; Teddy’s goin’ 
to swear. All men do.” 

“Why Don! I do not.” 

“You’s a min’ster, not a man ; but, Daddy, what 
did God roar like that for?” 

“That was thunder, child.” 

“Wasn’t it God, then?” 

“No; only one way of letting people know that 
there is a God. He has many ways of talking to 
people.” ^ 

“Does God know ever’ — everybody?” 

“Yes, child.” 

“Ever’ — every-body in the whole world?” 

“Yes, child.” 

“My! He must know lots. More’n Mic- 


10 


Angelward 


Mac, Toronto and Munnyal. God must be big. 
Say, Daddy, where did God come from?” 

“You must wait until you are old enough to 
understand such things, Don, and then you will 
have to wait until you go to heaven to learn more 
of them.” 

“O! that’s not for a long time. I can’t wait. 
I’ll have to go now, but,” and here she looked 
down at her knitted darling, which had fallen to 
the ground, and sighed, “No, I can’t neither, for 
Dolly needs me here. There’d be no one to look 
after her. Aunt Ann’d put her in the fire. No; 
I’ll have to stay.” 


Angelward 


11 


CHAPTER III. 
diggin". 

“Don ! Don ! ! Donalda ! ! ! Where can that 
child be ? Dear me ! she is always out of the way 
when she is wanted. Never saw her equal for an- 
noying a person,” and Aunt Ann walked around 
the house in search of Don, who should have been 
washed up for the afternoon. Don liked to be 
washed, but not by Aunt Ann, and this time she 
was evidently out of hearing, intentionally or 
otherwise. “Dear ! dear ! ! what a nuisance that 
child is ! ! ! Contrary as ever I did see a young 
one. All pure Barnard. Don ! Do — nal — da ! ! 
Such a heathenish name!!! Here, Teddy! have, 
you seen anything of your sister?” 

“Yes,” but Teddy did not evidently wish to go 
into particulars. 

“Where is she? Up to mischief, I warrant.” 

“No — only diggin' down by the spring.” 

“Down by the spring! I thought that I for- 
bade her to go there. She’ll be drowned yet.” 

“She’s all right,” and Teddy walked off with 
that air of masculine superiority which says : “O ! 
don’t bother over trifles. You women are so fool- 
ish.” 

“I suppose I’ll have to trapaise off after her. 
She ought to know when to come home. I’m 


12 


Angelward 


mighty glad I haven’t any of my own ; other peo- 
ple’s are bad enough. I’m about sick and tired of 
living for others.” With this last remark Aunt 
Ann marched off like a major-general to find the 
delinquent and bring her to punishment, and she 
found her squatting on the ground under an over- 
hanging slender birch tree, assiduously digging in 
the soft, damp soil near the spring, her imple- 
ments consisting of an old battered, broken-han- 
dled kitchen spoon. Her progress was slow, but 
she patiently delved and dug; Don, in some in- 
stances, cases in which she was much interested, 
had limitless patience; she could have dug here 
for hours if only left by herself. Don was “dig- 
gin’,” as Teddy had said. Occasionally a large 
earth worm stopped operations by crawling up 
through the hole she was making ; she would then 
instinctively shudder ; then again, summoning 
up courage, she would deal him his death-blow, 
for she could not allow even an ugly worm to 
hinder her work ; he must go and she was not one 
bit sorry to thus dispatch him. That which crawl- 
eth hath no attraction for man; he loveth that 
which flieth; man’s progress is skyward. Aunt 
Ann stood still and bent a disapproving gaze 
upon the huddled figure digging ; Don, feeling the 
shadow of a presence, looked up. Evidently she 
read disapproval in the face, for she went on with 
her work and disregarded the angry presence. 
This was Don’s usual method. 

“What are you doing, you naughty girl? Just 
look at your piney, and clean this morning, too ! 
You shall wear it all week, dirty and all.’’ Don 
stopped operations for a moment, balanced her 


Angelward 


13 


spoon in her hand and gazed at her aunt. “Dirt’s 
nice. Dirt makes me feel good.” She always 
took the opposite side from her aunt. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Diggin’.” A child’s laconic answer, though 
always correct as far as it goes, is sometimes de- 
cidedly aggravating; it is generally so suggestive 
of a deeper meaning, a something, which we de- 
sire to know, but which the child intends we shall 
not discover. Don was keenly intuitive and there- 
fore she knew that Aunt Ann was displeased with 
her, perhaps, rightly so, and that her reason for 
disobeying would carry no weight.” 

“ ‘Diggin’, yes, and spoiling your clothes. 
‘Diggin’ for what, gold ?” 1 

“No, there ain’t any gold here,” and she cast 
a disgusted glance at the speaker. Her reason 
had been insulted, and she keenly felt it. Aunt 
Ann evidently thought her foolish. 

“Well, what then?” 

“Diggin’ a hole,” and she cast a sidelong glance 
at a tiny box which lay near her, “diggin’ a hole 
to put that in,” pointing to it. 

“What’s in it?” 

“Dishes.” 

“And pray! what do you want to bury your 
dishes for? You get too many toys; if you had 
fewer you would take better care of them.” ’ 

“I am takin’ care of them. I want to hide 
them.” 

“Why! who wants them? Such nonsense, 
child ! What put such a notion into your head ?” 

Against her will Aunt Ann was becoming in- 
terested. She had forgotten to scold as she had 


4 


Angelward 


intended, for it had been her purpose to pounce 
down upon the small offender and to carry her, or 
rather, drag her, for Don never went willingly to 
the slaughter of the innocents, home to be washed 
and dressed. Children have a subtle method of 
disarming anger. Evidently becoming warmed 
up by her subject, her caution forsook her and 
Don became confidential to even Aunt Ann. 
^‘Hidin’ them from God V 

“Why, child! I am sure God has no use for 
them. Who put such nonsense in your head? 
You are queer, I always said so. Where did you 
get such an idea ?” 

Don looked up as if to question the advisabil- 
ity of proceeding any farther, but evidently see- 
ing that her aunt was interested she answered: 
“Annie Lindsay says ever’ — everything we have 
belongs to God, dishes, and dolls, and ever’ — ev- 
erything, and I said they don’t, and they don’t 
neither; they’re mine. Daddy don’t want any 
dolls. God don’t. Why should God ! Dolly Var- 
den don’t b’long to God. I’d bury her, too, only 
she’d die and then she’d go to God an’, an’ I won’t 
let Him have her,” and hereupon she hugged her 
battered snub-nosed darling, which she had 
pinned (for safety) to the front of her pinafore. 
While Don dug, Dolly dangled. 

“I can’t carry dishes all the time, and I won’t 
let God have them; so I’ll put them where He 
can’t find them. Annie Lindsay says He has a 
big, big eye, and can see ever’ — everything, but I 
don’t b’lieve that.” 

“Yes, child, God knows and sees everything.” 

“Well !” and Don looked discouraged, “He 


Angelward 


15 


must have an awful eye, then; but He can’t see 
into the ground; nobody can, and maybe He’s 
lookin’ somewhere’s else now. I must hurry and 
hide them ’fore He comes. Teddy says God’s at 
the war, away off. If God,” and Don looked anx- 
iously around herself, as if fearful of His sud- 
den appearance before her task was accomplished, 
‘‘can see down into the earth, I don’t see why 
worms is there. He can’t like them,” and she 
shuddered as a great one came crawling up, “and 
He wouldn’t let them live. If I was God I’d kill 
ever’ — everyone of them.” 

“But, child, God does not •'vant to kill that 
which he has made.” 

“God made worms !” and Don looked incredu- 
lously at her aunt. “No, He never; but. Aunt 
Ann,” and here she became very serious, “does 
my dishes b’long to God ?” 

“Tut ! tut, child ! ! Well, in a way, everything 
does ; but He allows us to take care of them and 
call them our own. He will not take them away 
if you are good. Annie Lindsay was only teasing 
you.” 

“No, she meant it ; she said onced God came and 
asked her for her doll, and she gave it to Him; 
but I wouldn’t, I couldn’t,” and Don emphatically 
shook her head and hugged Dolly Varden. “No, 
I never could, could I, Dolly ?” 


i6 


Angelvvard 


CHAPTER IV. 
god's eye. 

“Why, Teddy! what is up? You have nearly 
frightened me out of my senses," and Mrs. Fen- 
wick looked up hurriedly from the basketful of 
darning. 

“O ! O I! O 111" gasped Teddy, who had rushed 
into the house, completely out of breath and with 
fear plainly visible on his face, “The world’s 
cornin’ to end." 

“Nonsense, child! who has been telling you 
this? Some people are always thinking of it." 

“But it is; come and see;" and Teddy caught 
hold of his mother’s arm and dragged her up 
from her seat, “look there," and he pointed to the 
sky! In the northwest, just over Mount Despair, 
a great fiery crimson ball hung in the sky; to 
make the scene more lurid the sky was of a leaden 
hue, and a fine mist from away out at sea was 
being slowly carried in by a piercing east wind. 
It certainly was a mysterious and awesome sight. 
“O! it’s awful,” and Teddy hid his face in his 
mother’s skirt." 

“It is strange, child, but the end of the world 
is not yet. Christ has not been preached to all 
the heathen yet." 

“Has, has He to before ?" 


Angelward 


17 


“Yes, child, it would not be fair to them/’ 

“Well, that’s something; but, mother, what be- 
comes of those who die before? It isn’t fair to 
them.” 

“God knows best, child ; we must allow Him to 
look after them. I expect, though, that they are 
lost.” 

“That’s queer; but, mother, are you sure that 
the end can’t come? I don’t want to go yet.” 

“No, it can’t; but why do you not want to go 
yet ?” 

“I don’t want to die. There isn’t any fun in 
heaven.” 

“You will not think so when you get there ; but 
come and let us see what the people are do- 
ing.” 

Teddy clung closely to his mother’s arm, for 
with all his fearlessness in ordinary, every-day 
circumstances, he was a child who dreaded any- 
thing of the mysterious and supernatural. He 
feared death, except, when occasionally life not 
proving quite satisfactory, he wished that he were 
dead. Thunder and lightning were sources of 
terror. He evidently had an awe-inspiring idea 
of God, and no wonder, for those with whom he 
lived regarded Him as a formidable, avenging 
spirit. Aunt Ann’s favorite hymn was “The 
Judgment Day’s Coming,” and when she sang this 
with all the fervor of which she was capable, no 
wonder it terrorized Teddy and made him fearful 
of his future state. The spiritual in the child, as in 
primitive man, is easily appealed to and generally 
in the sense of fear. The animal state has in 
these instances not been emerged from; domes- 


i8 


Angelward 


tication of mind is being very slowly developed ; 
as the primitive man has spirits around him, so to 
Teddy there were omnipresent influences, which 
affected his inner mind; he could not have ex- 
plained how, but nevertheless he felt their pres- 
ence. At times he assumed a defiant attitude be- 
fore God, but at other times, in times of danger, 
real or apparent, only, he succumbed to his fear 
of Him, to the reality of His presence. At times 
he was sceptical, but these were not when he was 
in terror. Don was usually defiant at all times, 
but occasionally, when her world was unusually 
pleasant to her, she then saw God in a new light. 
Nature and God were to her two distinctly dif- 
ferent things ; she did not as yet recognize God as 
the soul of nature. 

From this portion of the village the people had 
gathered on “The Bank,” in front of the Manse. 
They were just as much terrified as Teddy, and 
why not, for had they not just as childlike minds 
in this respect? Not one of them had the knowl- 
edge to account for this mystery of the sky. 
Years do not necessarily make mature minds, nay, 
some grow to be only the more superstitious. 
The Scotch nature is an intense one; it is highly 
subjective if undeveloped by reason, and it places 
great faith in signs and wonders. It is a dream- 
nature ; but its dreams are awesome, fearsome and 
otherworldly ; the awful in nature is catered to ; it 
is no lightsome, flighty wondering of the mind, 
but superstitions, with an awful depth to them, 
which make a lasting impression on the possessor ; 
it is a graveyard superstition; it is winter, not 
summer. The heavens and the earth are full of 


Angelward 


19 


awful portents, and this little assembly gathered 
here this night was terrorized, even as Teddy; 
they were certain such a portent boded them no 
good. Another such crowd had gathered in the 
fishing portion of the village, and someone over 
in the vicinity of the mountain had built a huge 
bon-fire, as if to frighten away the sky phenome- 
non. These different detachments blew fog-sig- 
nals from speaking shells, as if it were necessary 
for them to keep in touch one with the other. A 
feeling of dread and wonder had seized upon the 
community. Two old wives, who stood together, 
exchanged thoughts. “It’s no canny, Moggie ; it’s 
a fearsome sicht.” 

“It’s a’ that, Kristy. I’ve hearn tell o’ sich in 
th’ auld times. It’ll bode nae gude til us.” 

“Im athinkin’ them Nutts hae somewhat t’ dae 
wi’ ’t they’re a carryin’ on at a great rate adrink- 
in’ a’ the time.” 

“Sae I hear. They aucht t’ be put oot o’ th’ 
place.” 

“Sae they aucht. Whar’s auld Donal’ th’ 
nicht ?” 

“I haena heerd o’ him this lang time. He disna 
cam oot o’ th’ bush much th’ noo. He’s gittin’ 
timider a’ th’ time.” 

“He may weel be ca’d th’ wil’ man, but I’m 
athinkin’ he could give us some licht the nicht.” 

A young lad, who evidently did not wish any- 
one to imagine for an instant that he was in the 
least frightened by this uncommon event, jocu- 
larly remarked to his companion, “Come, Sandy, 
let’s git another drink, while there’s time. Old 
J im’s got some in fresh.” 


20 


Angelward 


“It’s something mair nor drinks ye want. Git 
down o’ yer knees an’ pray for yer souls. Ye’ll be 
wantin’ water soon insted o’ whiskey.” 

“O ! Bill, ye’re takin’ it a bit serious ; its’ naeth- 
ing.” 

“ ‘Naethin’ !’ Ye dinna ken what ye’re sayin’. 
It’s Gawd !” and the old man clasped his hands 
and gazed earnestly and prayerfully at the sky. 
The people of this settlement were not noted for 
their piety, but the spirit of the old Covenanters 
seemed to be rekindled in them on this night. 
“Where’s the meenister?” 

“Gane t’ see auld John Baird, who’s deein’.” 

“Is’t sae? Puir auld soul, its aboot time.” 

“Ye canna leeve forever.” 

“No’ i’ this world at ony rate.” 

“There’s Meestress Fen’ick an’ Tiddy an’ he’s 
fair scared oot o’ his senses. Here, laddie ! what 
ails ye? Where’s Don?” 

Don, upon hearing Teddy’s announcement of 
the end of the world being at hand, had hurried 
off to see what had caused him to make such a 
statement, for she was not always thoroughly 
sure of the reliability of h^s statements, as he so 
often concocted many cock-and-a-bull yarns with 
which to torment her, and therefore she was al- 
ways on the alert to establish their veracity before 
she believed them; but when she saw the crowd 
assembled on The Bank she became keenly in- 
terested and knew that for once Teddy had some 
grounds for his strange announcement, but she 
took a more prosaic view of the presence of the 
sky-wonder, for she did not appear to be in the 
least frightened by it, but moved in and out of 


Angelward 


21 


the crowd, then all of a sudden she dashed off in 
the direction of the spring, as if some sudden im- 
pulse had seized her and she must obey it. Her 
mother, catching sight of her, called “Don ! Don ! ! 
Come back.” Don turned, only to say in a hur- 
ried, excited tone, “God’s seein’,” and then disap- 
peared. Running down to the side of the spring 
she quickly began to dig a hole with a small stick, 
muttering to herself all the while, “It’s God eye all 
lighted up, and He’s lookin’ for the dishes; He 
shan’t have ’em. Annie said He’d get ’em if I did 
say they wasn’t His, but He shan’t. Mrs. John- 
stone gave ’em to me, and they’re not God’s.” 
Don dug with all her small strength and at last 
unearthed the small box. “There !” and she ex- 
ultantly seized upon her treasure ; “God didn’t get 
’em. He’s lighted His eye all for nothing. Come 
Dolly,” and she pulled Dolly Varden from out of 
the front of her pinafore, where she had been 
placed for safety, “Come, we’ll go back. There, 
it’s goin’ out!” Sure enough the fiery ball was 
fading away, the mist was becoming more dense 
and was obscuring it from view. The wind had 
risen considerably and now sighed ominously 
among the trees ; the women and men shivered 
and began to depart in twos and threes to their 
homes, discussing in awed tones the “fearsome 
sicht.” Their fear was not all dispelled, but hope 
was feebly beginning to assert itself and their 
voices were louder pitched and almost tremulous 
with excitement and lessening fear. 

When Don returned to The Manse she found 
her mother anxiously looking for her. “You 
naughty child ! Why did you run off like that ?” 


22 


Angelward 


“God was lookin’ for my dishes and, and I went 
to get them.” 

“Nonsense, child! God does not want your 
dishes. Do not allow Annie Lindsay to make you 
believe any such nonsense. Here it is bed time! 
Come, Teddy.” 


Angelward 


23 


CHAPTER V. 

"gettin^ married/^ 

The phenomenon described in the preceding 
chapter occurred in October, and in November 
Mrs. Fenwick left Mic-Mac to spend the winter 
at her own home. Don coaxed hard to be allowed 
to accompany her, but to no avail. Aunt Ann was 
left in full charge, and that winter was one to be 
remembered by Don, if not objectively, subjec- 
tively; she and Aunt Ann had never been at all 
congenial, and now, that her mother was absent, 
and the former had entire charge of her, Don re- 
belled more than usual. Her aunt’s decided pref- 
erence, nay partiality for Teddy, incensed her 
more than ever. She sought her comfort in 
“Daddy,” and when he was not engrossed in his 
theology, she did receive his attention, but Dolly 
Varden was her truest and surest solace, for Dolly 
was always at hand without any all-absorbing 
plans of her own. Don had infinite resources 
within herself, she seemed at times to commune 
with her inner self; she had a soul, which was 
grasping for light. The actions of her elders 
gave her food for contemplation; she drew con- 
clusions from their actions, she imitated them in 
many ways, but yet, always in a manner which 
showed she had her own opinions on the subject; 


24 


Angelward 


it was not a pure imitation, but rather an indi- 
vidual modelling of her actions from what she 
knew of the lives of others ; she drew lessons for 
her own use and did not merely copy the actions 
of others. All life is one vast moulding and re- 
moulding of ourselves after, the experiences of 
those who have gone before, and those who are 
now living in our midst ; hence the mighty power 
of influence; the good and the evil develop from 
it ; we notice the action of another, it suggests a 
thought to us ; we apply the thought to our ac- 
tions, and we consider it our own suggestion ; it is 
our own and yet it is not. No man liveth unto 
himself, we are all dependent, one upon the 
other, for suggestion rules us. We disclaim its 
influence ; demand an independence for our- 
selves, but nevertheless we are dependent. Our 
degree of independence depending alone upon 
the degree to which we develop the suggestion; 
we may simply assimilate it and pass it off as our 
own thoughts, or we may so alter it by our own 
conception of it as to render it quite different 
from what it was formerly. We must gain our 
knowledge from the experiences of the past; 
but it is our further duty to add to that experi- 
ence and give forth new conceptions of old 
thoughts. We must modernize the ancient; we 
must rebuild on the charred acre of the past. 
Children’s play is largely an imitation of the 
lives and occupations of their elders. Don had 
witnessed several marriages at the manse and 
she, evidently judging that matrimony was one 
of the pleasures of life, decided to enter upon 
it herself; so therefore one day Aunt Ann 


Angelward 


25 


noticed her put on a pair of old, soiled, tan- 
colored, kid gloves of her mother; walk over 
to the wall, stand straight up against it 
facing the room; look demurely at the floor, 
then shyly at her right, then seriously in front 
of her; and mutter something; then pull off a 
glove and clasp an imaginary hand and finally 
kiss the invisible owner of it. Don’s pan- 
tomine having been gone through with, she 
walked happily away, evidently in the company 
of a congenial comrade. 

“What are you doing, child ?” 

“Gettin’ married.” 

“Nonsense!” 

“Yes, I was; that’s what they do.” 

Teddy, who viewed the affairs from a matter- 
of fact point, and who considered Don as ex- 
tremely foolish, said, “Why Don! you have to 
be grown-up and there has to be a man and a 
minister.” 

“Well! wasn’t there?” 

“No, where were they?” 

“I saw them, I talked to them and they talked 
to me.” 

“Child ! you are queer.” 

“No, I ain’t,” and Don walked off quite in- 
sulted to take comfort in the company of Dolly 
Varden. “No, I ain’t queer. I did see them, I 
did talk with them; now didn’t I? Aunt Ann 
don’t know ever’, everything even if she thinks 
she does. Now didn’t I, Dolly?” A little doubt 
was springing up; Don’s reason was questioning 
her intuition. Until her aunt’s adverse criticism 
had brought her objective mind — her reason — 


26 


Angelward 


into play she had had no doubt as to the reality 
of the whole farce; but now she was in doubt. 
Adverse criticism is always a barrier to the 
operations of the subjective mind; no hypnotic 
exhibition is successfully ■ performed under its 
sway ; Don was, so to speak, in an hypnotic 
state ; her own self being the hypnotist ; her mind 
had suggested to her the reality of her situation 
and she had believed in it. The weird imagin- 
ings of the hypnotist are real to himself if not 
to others. Life is a delusion anyway; what is 
real to one is unreal to another. Such fancies 
as Don’s rule us all at times; we may not be 
willing to admit the fact; but there it is never- 
theless, some more than others. Don was a 
highly imaginative child, and left to herself as 
she was, she had ample opportunity and scope 
in which to develop along this line, and for her 
there may be a bright future, or mayhap a sad, 
sad one; if her reason shall guide her imagina- 
tion, one balance the other, or if reason only 
for short seasons remains in abeyance and in- 
spiration flash out, then what genius may she 
not display, but if on the other hand reason 
be cast aside and her other mind rule her alone, 
whither may she not be carried by impulse? It 
is this abandoning of reason which gives to us 
the insane, which gives to us our night and day 
dreams. Don did really have a husband and 
minister in her fancy; her subjective mind re- 
cognized them. Teddy, with all his fear and 
terror of what was the supernatural to him, had 
not her imaginative soul. He felt a force be- 
yond him; but he had no knowledge that it 


Angel WARD 


27 

was a part of himself; he was purely objective; 
but Don recognized this force, felt at home with 
and therefore felt no terror of it. Don’s terror 
arose from being misunderstood by real per- 
sons; not by coming in contact with the chil- 
dren of her brain. She did not fear the super- 
natural ; God did not inspire her with awe, rather 
she defied Him and she would have raised her 
small hand in puny defiance of Him, if in the 
shape of man he had approached her under the 
name of God; she did not (as yet) love him; 
for he had been portrayed to her as a Spirit, 
which was angry at little boys and girls, and she 
could not rid herself of this idea; His awfulness 
appalled her; but never once had she thought of 
Him as a loving spirit, as a friend; Jesus, she 
had a better opinion of ; for He had blessed little 
children ; but God had always punished people. 
He had made two people die for telling a lie, and 
Aunt Ann said that once a little girl had said 
naughty words and He had made her dumb; 
but she had her doubts for Annie Lindsay did 
tell such fibs and said naughty words, but she 
lived. In the company of her inanimate, battered 
companion she took sweet comfort; but was 
Dolly inanimate to her? No, she was real to 
Don. 

One day the news of the winter arrived 
and Teddy and Don were told that they had a 
new sister. Teddy at on^e disowned her. 
‘^Don’s all the sister I want”; Don in her turn 
opened her eyes wide with wonder, looked in- 
credulous, and then turned her attention other- 


28 


Angelward 


ward. ‘'Well ; you are a queer pair ! One would 
think you had been told some bad news.” 

“Bad enough; we don’t want any youngster’s 
here, squallin’ and goin’ on, do we Don?” 

“I don’t know. When’s mother cornin’ home; 
I want her?” and Don contrary to all preced- 
ents began to cry. “I do want my mother, I 
do.” 

“Why, child, she is all right!” 

“No, she ain’t; she’s sick; she’ll die and then 
oo — 00 — ooh !” 

“Nonsense, she will come home in the 
spring.” 

“We’ll not let that kid in, squallin’,” and Teddy 
whispered in his sister’s ear, “we’ll get old 
Donald to take her off ; he cooks babies..” 

“No, he don’t.” 

“He does ; Billy says so.” 

“He don’t know ; Billy don’t.” 

“What’s this, child?” 

“Teddy says old Donald cooks babies. He 
don’t” 

“There is no saying what he does not do ; you 
had both better keep clear of him.” 

“I don’t b’lieve there’s any such a man; I 
never seen him.” 

“There is, Don, and he’s awful.” 

“Augh! he ain’t; he ain’t as awful as God.’ 

“Donalda! I shall put you in the closet if 
you talk like that. What do you know about 
God?” 

“God is awful, you said yesterday, when you 
put me in the closet, that God was lookin’ down 
at me, and, when I was there all alone He did 


Angelward 


29 


just glower at me, but I didn’t get Afraid. No,” 
and Don looked defiant, “I ain’t one bit ’fraid of 
Him. He didn’t get my di'^hes.” 

“Such a child! What you will come to I do 
not know! I never heard tell of a child talking 
as you do. You will never go to Heaven if you 
talk in this way.” 

“Where’ll I go, then?” 

“Away down.” 

“To Hen?” 

“Hush, child!” 

“Will Don get burned up, Aunt Ann?” 

“If she doesn’t repent I am afraxd she will; 
but it is to be hoped she will see the error of her 
way.” 

“Has every one to repent ?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, that’s queer; if I was God I’d make 
them good at first and then they wouldn’t have 
to. I don’t want to repent.” 

“So he did; but they would not remain good. 
You know, he made Adam and E\e good and 
put them in the Garden of Eden with everything 
lovely and all he asked them, to do was not to eat 
apples off one tree ; but like most people they did 
not know when they were well off, and they 
disobeyed him, and God had to drive them out; 
and people have been doing wrong ever since.” 

“Why, dosen’t he make some more good peo- 
ple? They wouldn’t do wrong again?” 

“But God told Adam and Eve, that if they 
disobeyed Him, their children should be pun- 
ished; and so they have been.” 

“That’s queer. It isn’t fair.” 


30 Angelward 

^'Did they eat an awful lot of apples? They 
must have.” 

“No, only a little bite. Eve took it first and 
then she coaxed Adam.” 

“Women’s always doin’ what they ain’t got no 
business to do ; if she hadn’t Adam’d never have. 
Old Mac says women’s bad.” 

“Not as bad as he is, old sinner. I wish you 
would not go there Teddy; and I do wish that 
you would not murder the Queen’s English.” 

“I like him, ’cept when he gets tearin’ mad. 
Oh! he was mad at me the other day. I went 
in and I said ‘parlez vous Francais,’ and he 
thought I meant it. And he said ‘oui mon gar- 
con,’ and I said. Oh! he was mad, I said, ‘See- 
saw, saw-log’ and he jumped, and if I hadn’t 
have scooted he’d have killed me he was so mad,” 
so Jim said. 

“Yes, and serve you right; you ought to know 
better than to mock an old man. Don’t you 
remember Elijah and what he did to the people 
who mocked him?” 

“That man in the Sundiy-Book, who sent 
bears out to eat them up.” 

“Yes, Don.” 

“Will they come after Teddy?” 

“No, but God may punish him in some other 
way.” 

“God must have an awful time lookin’ after 
people. Is that why he’s so cross? But say. 
Aunt Ann,” and Don toyed with the buttons on 
the front of her aunt’s basque as if uncertain 
as to whether she should ask her question, “did 
Adam and Eve, did they have to leave all that 


Angelward 


31 

lovely garden, just because they took the apple; 
why didn’t they think, Cod’d be angry ?” 

“People never will think until it is too late.” 

“What made them eat it?” 

“A serpent came along anl tempted Eve, and 
then she gave it to Adam.” 

“A snake!” and Don shuddered. “I’d have 
thought she’d have knowed better than do 
what a snake told her. I’d have run ’way, ’way 
from it.” 

“One would have thought so; but people to 
this day do wrong, when they know better.” 

“Well, I’m glad I ain’t Eve, I’d hate to be 
blamed jfor eatin’ that apple and makin’ all that 
trouble” ; and Don slipped down from her 
aunt’s knee and moved slowly away as was her 
way, when mystified. She wished to think this 
all over by herself. 


32 


Angelward 


CHAPTER VL 

SHE MAKES ME BAD. 

The robins had returned; the last vestiges of 
snow had disappeared and every little stream 
was for the time a gushing, roaring, plunging 
torrent; the ground was soft and like a sponge, 
as Don found to her distress upon tv^o occasions ; 
the ditch by the side of the man^e sent down 
its share of dark amber-colored water from the 
savannah; in some places, where it babbled over 
tiny stones, little rapids were formed and white 
foam gathered in the smah indentations along 
the edge. Don loved these foam} masses; she 
would delve her hands dovm into them; and 
once she tumbled into the water to be hauled 
out by an irate aunt. ‘‘Didn’t I tell you not to 
go so near !” 

“Yes, but it’s so pretty.” 

“H’m! You are a pretty-looking object.” 

The grass was now delicately green, as also 
were the trees; all except the firs, which served 
as a fitting background for their less hardy fel- 
lows ; small white violets were abundantly spread 
over the soft marshy ground; but Don did wish 
“they’d grow where it wasn’t wet, blue ones did,’' 
and she did not see any reason why the others 
did not. 


Angelward 


33 


This afternoon an intense longing had seized 
upon her for her mother. Spring is a longing, 
growing time ; new thoughts and fancies seem to 
spring up with the flowers. At first she felt, 
that she wanted something and later on she dis- 
covered, that the something was her mother. 
Why, she wanted her she did not know ; only 
she was aware, that sl^e wanted her and no one 
else. The love of parent for child and child 
for parent is firmly implanted in the human 
family ; it may not often show itself, as in Don’s 
case, but it is there; it is a spark of the Divine 
Love, which cannot be extinguished ; the Divine 
in the human race grows by just such small 
degrees ; sometimes its growth is almost imper- 
ceptible; if it were to burst forth in continued 
volcanic outbursts the Kingdom of Heaven 
would be ours long ago ere this; but Love is of 
slow growth ; it has been being evolved all 
through the ages by just such slow degrees; for 
a counter force it has had Evil, but if at times 
the latter has seemed to overwhelm it, still Love 
has never been really vanquished; it has come 
forth from the conflict brighter and stronger 
than of old. 

All winter Don had been writing love-notes 
to her mother; queer, little, square pieces of 
paper covered with indecipherable hieroglyphics; 
but the love-motive scribbled them. Such lan- 
guage conveys love as well as that easily read. 
They convey their message in an occult manner, 
only recognized by the recipient if she be “en rap- 
port” with the sender ; whether this mother was, 
one from observation could not strictly affirm ; but 


34 


Angelward 


anyway Don herself felt a love in sending them 
and at her tender age felt not, that they might not 
be appreciated; so therefore part of their mission 
was accomplished. These hieroglyphic symbols 
of her love expressed a deep tenderness of soul; 
they were a spontaneous effort of her love na- 
ture ; for no one asked her to write them ; in fact, 
Aunt Ann considered it all a piece of nonsense. 
'‘Your mother can’t read that,” as she critically 
glanced at one of them. A look of pain over- 
spread Don’s face, which, however, soon passed 
away as she assured herself that Aunt Ann 
“didn’t know,” and neither she did. “She can 
read them,” and so a mother ought to be able 
to read the thought that prompted them, and is 
not that the main importance of a love-letter? 
It is not the words alone, nor at all ; but the act ; 
poor, plain words will suffice to express the love- 
message, which the act has rendered eloquent. 
We feel and do what we cannot express by 
words ; we with our huge vocabulary re- 
gard with contempt those who possess a scanty 
one ; but do we express our love more fully than 
they? Their’ barbaric effluence may be just as 
great as our own eloquent outbursts; it is tne 
motive, not the words, which speaks true. How 
inadequately at our best do we express any of 
our passions, aspirations or desires ! We fancy, 
we are eloquent in love, strong in anger; but 
do we not all feel powerless to give voice to 
them? The lover of Nature, when “en rapport” 
with her, feels as if his very soul is bound by 
unbreakable chains ; his intense longing soul can- 
not give free vent to itself; it is as if steam were 


Angelward 


35 

suppressed; poor human structures encompass 
it around about. The sighing of the pines is 
sweet music to our souls ; music, as of a celestial 
choir; weird and soothing, luring us to other 
worlds; we lose ourselves in it for the moment; 
but earthly ties bind us and we are never uncon- 
scious of them for long. We are not yet free 
to soar to our celestial joys; our souls must still 
remain encased in a physical shell through which 
our soul can only peek. The soul is as a caged 
bird. In anger we cannot give full vent to our 
passion; we may do awful deeds under its in- 
fluence; but not as awful as we wish to commit; 
rarely is it ever satisfied. 

On this May afternoon — ^the springs were late 
in Mic-Mac — Don had been left to her own 
resources; Aunt Ann was busy and Teddy was 
off with the boys; so, therefore, yielding to this 
intense longing, she decided to start off in search 
of her mother. She hurried up the “Route 
Road” by the side of the manse. This road 
passed through the savannah and was soft and 
boggy in places. Don had never alone ventured 
far up it; for she had dim visions of bears and 
“things”; but on this afternoon bears or not 
she was led up it by her impulses. Evidently 
taken up with some thoughts she did not notice 
a coming event, until a great, big, red cow 
passed by her ; then, on looking up, she saw that 
she was surrounded by Lindsay’s cows. Don 
detested cows ; they had horns and hooked 
people, and they would hook her, and she did 
not want to die just now. “O ! O ! ! O ! ! !” she 
gasped, “what’ll I do? There’s Ben, too! He’ll 


Angelward 


36 

kill me. I’ll run;” and suiting action to her 
words she attempted to run to the ditch; but 
here also were cows. She saw one break and 
made a dash for it; but the awful Ben was there 
before her slowly chewing his cud and quietly 
gazing at her. The cows were evidently as much 
disturbed as Don herself was; for they moved 
uneasily from one side of the road to the other. 
She thought that they were chasing her and 
would in the end hook her. “O ! O ! ! O ! ! !” 
and the poor little mite in her attempt to once 
more escape fell. over a soft muddy clump. “O! 
they’ll kill me. O ! !” and she pulled her Holland 
pinafore over her face; but peered out of one 
corner of it; Don did not wish to die in the 
dark. 

‘What’re you doin’ there?” and Teddy lifted 
her up from the wet, mossy clump. 

“O! is’t you, Ted? I’m so glad. I was goin’ 
to mother and Ben came ^long and the cows, 
and ” 

'‘Silly! Mother’s in Harrisburg. You can’t 
walk there. You’ll ketch it from Aunt Ann. 
You are a naughty girl.” 

“I ain’t. I do want my mother. I do — 00 — 
00!” 

“No worse than other fellows,” and Teddy 
turned to look at a squirrel on a fence. “Say, 
Don! that’s a fine one. I wish I could snare 
him.” 

“It’s bad to snare squirrels.” 

“No, ’tain’t; they’re made for that.” 

“I wish they’d snare cows, then. I hate ’em.” 

“They can’t hurt you.” 


Angelward 


37 


"O! they do.” 

*'Not if you stare them in the eyes. Old Mac 
says so.” 

“Sure, Ted ; but no, I never could stare Ben ; 
he’s awful! He’s Satan.” 

“He’s a bull.” 

“He’s the Devil,” and Don shuddered. “He’s 
dreadful. Oo — oo — oo !” 

“Stopj Don; you’re silly to-day. You’ll get 
it from Aunt Ann if you don’t. She says Mrs. 
Wesley always slapped her children when they 
cried; and she’ll slap you.” 

“No, she won’t. I’ll stare her in the face.” 

“It’s only an’malg. Come on,” and Teddy 
conducted his sister toward the manse. 

“What’s up now ? Another clean pinafore 
dirty. I’ll dress you in leather, I will. Did ever 
any one see the like of you?” 

“Leave the child alone, Ann. She has had 
an accident.” 

“All very well for you to talk, John. You 
don’t have to keep her clean.” 

“Accidents happen to us all. Where have you 
been, Don?” 

“Up the 'Route, ’ and Lindsay’s cows came 
’long.” 

“And were you afraid?” 

“O I” and Don’s eyes filled with tears ; “it was 
awful; Ben was there.” 

“But did you not know that God was near?” 

“No-o — he’s in Heav’n.” 

“Yes; but here also. He is everywhere. Why 
did you not pray to him?” 


38 


Angelward 


wouldn’t listen to me; it’s only for big 

things.” 

'‘Was that not a big thing?” 

“Ben’s big. O!” and Don shuddered; “but, 
Daddy, does God really and truly listen to little 
girls ?” 

“Of course, child.” 

“Well, I will next time.” 

“That’s a good child; now run in and get on 
a clean pinafore and do not worry Aunt Ann 
so much.” 

“She makes me bad.” 

“Nonsense, child.” 

“She does, Daddy.” 


Angelward 


39 


CHAPTER VIL 

PLAYING HEAVEN. 

“Say, Annie, let’s play Heaven! You’ll be 
God and I’ll be Jesus and Nep’ll be the De — 
Devil. No, that won’t do ; Nep’s too good. Your 
Ben’ll do for him; he needn’t be here; we’ll just 
’magine he is. Will you?” 

“Hu-hu! but how do you play it?” 

“Why! we’ll call this place here Heav’n and 
that’s He — ell down there,” and Don pointed to 
a dark hill-enclosed space half way down the 
precipice. Annie and she were standing on “The 
Bank.” 

“Well! and what do you do then?” 

“Why! you’ll be God and I’ll be Jesus, and 
we’ll s’ppose there’s lots of angels round. Those 
flies’ll do for them. Angels has wings and, and 
we’ll pretend this is all gold streets and pearl 
gates. Awful nice, Heav’n is.” 

“Is there gold streets there, gold like Ag’s 
brooch ?” 

“Don’t you know that ? Why, ’course there is ! 
You’ll sit on that stona for a throne and I’ll sit 
’side you and then the De — vil’ll be away down 
in the hot place.” 

“Then, what’ll we do? There won’t be any 
fun sittin’ here doin’ nothing.” 


40 


Angelward 


“Why! you’ll make a big noise and frighten 
the sinners and I’ll ask you not to be so cross 
to them ; but, but first Satan’ 11 have to be up here 
with us. We’ll just ’magine Ben’s up here, and 
then he’ll be bad and then God, you’ll send him 
’way, ’way down to — to He — ell. D’ y’ see?” 

“What for?” Evidently Annie had no knowl- 
edge of the Miltonic theory. 

“Why, ’cause he’s bad ! Don’t y’ know? Made 
a fuss ’cause God didn’t let him be God; and 
so God said ‘here, Satan, you go ’way! We 
don’t want you here ’sturbin’ us. Go ’way down 
to He — ell. It’s only angels and saints here.’ 
Say, Annie ! which’d you rather be ?” 

“Angels, ’course; ’cause they have wings.” 

“So ’ud I. I won’er if God ’ud let’s choose; 
but ’course girls and boys is always angels and 
men and women’s saints.” 

“Who told you?” 

“Aunt Ann.” 

“Is’t in the Bible?” 

“ ’Course.” 

“Well, how’m I to send Ben ’way? He ain’t 
here.” 

“ ’magine he is.” 

“I can’t.” 

“Yes, you can. Don’t you know how?” and 
Don looked incredulously at Annie. “Why! you 
just think he’s here. I often s’pose. S’posin’s 
’maginin’. I s’pose I’m a queen, ’cause queens 
does as they like to. They hasn’t no Aunt Anns. 
Just s’pose you is, and you is. S’pose Ben’s 
Satan and he’ll be Satan. Don’t you see?” 

“Hu-hu! but it’s more fun playin’ tag.” 


Angelward 


41 


“No, ’tain’t; this ain’t so real. Real things 
isn’t nice. Aunt Ann ain’t so nice as a queen I 
talk to.” 

“Ain't you ’fraid God’ll do something dread- 
ful to you some day ’cause you hate your Aunt 
Ann ?” 

“No. God don’t like her. He don’t like old 
maids. Old Mac says the Bible says women 
ought to get married and God wrote the Bible. 
I’ll get married.” 

“But, if nobody asked you?” 

“I’d ask him.” 

“You couldn’t. Men always ask. They’d say 
you was bold if you did.” 

“That’s why Aunt Ann’s an old maid! A 
man’d be ’fraid, so he would. Let’s play. You’ll 
put Satan out and he’ll go ’round like a roarin’ 
lion, and he’ll make people be bad; and then 
God’ll be so sorry that He’ll send Jesus, that’s 
me, down a little, wee, tiny baby, littler than 
ours, to save them.” 

“But you ain’t a baby.” 

“Can’t you just ’magine I’m one? You’re no 
good at s’posin’.” 

“ ’Tain’t no fun.” 

“Yes, ’tis. I’m always s’posin’. When Aunt 
Ann beats me I just s’pose I’m not Don; only 
a little black girl Aunt Ann says’ll come in my 
place if I don’t do what she tells me to. Aunt 
Ann tells lies; all grown-ups does.” 

“S’posin’s lyin’.” 

“No, ’tain’t; for you know you’re only s’pos- 
in’. Now you’ll send me down; you’ll just 


42 Angelward 

s’pose I’m a wee baby and I’ll go down to earth 
and grow up.” 

'‘You’ll have to be little up here first.” 

"Yes, and you’ll send me down, when nobody’s 
lookin’, and I’ll get inside a cabbage and then 
they’ll pick it and find me. Joseph and Mary’ll 
be my father and mother.” 

"But God’s Jesus’ father.” 

"Yes; but — but, well God couldn’t be with him 
all the time; so Joseph took care of him, and I’ll 
grow up and pat little children on the head; 
I’ll pat you, Annie.” 

"But I’m God.” 

"You’re only s’posin’. You’re Annie Lind- 
say all the same, and then the Jews’ll kill me 
and I’ll have to hang on that tree; but,” and 
Don looked anxiously around ; "where’ll the 
Jews be? O! we’ll s’pose them, too. Teddy’d 
have done only he’s ’way. Boys is always ’way 
when they’re wanted. Now we’ll begin.” 

" ’Tain’t no fun.” 

"’Tis; s’posin’s such fun. If I was Bill Nutt 
I’d s’pose I wasn’t lame. Ain’t he awful? D’ 
y’ s’pose God’ll take him to Heav’n and make 
him all straight? I’m ’fraid of lame people. I 
always cry, when ‘Wooden Jones’ comes ’long. 
Say, Annie, who’d you s’pose was God’s 
mother ?” 

"He ain’t got any. He made hisself.” 

"No, he didn’t. All peoples has.” 

"God’s a spur’t.” 

"What’s a spur’t?” 

"Don’t know; but it ain’t like people.” 


Angelvvard 


43 


make himself. I wish I had ; then Fd have blue 
eyes and lovely, long hair, all curls; and Fd tell 
mothers not to put holland pinnies and wincey 
dresses on their little girls. Aunt Ann says I’m 
vain; but I ain’t.” 

“Don?” 

“Yes.” 

“Who’s the De — vils mother? He ain’t no 
spur’t.” 

“Don’t know. She couldn’t have been good 
or he’d have been better; but boys is hard to 
train ; they’re made bad.” 

“What’s next?” 

“That’s all. We>e played Heav’n.” 

“That ain’t much.” 

“Yes, ’tis; it lasts forever and forever till the 
Judgment Day.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Don’t you know? Why! when everybody 
has to go and stand before God, and if they’re 
good they gets a prize and goes to Heav’n, and 
if they ain’t they gets nothing and goes ’way, 
’way down to He — ell.” 

“Does everybody have to wait?” 

“Yes, ’course.” 

“People don’t go to Heav’n then when they’re 
dead?” 

“No.” 

“But they do ; Laurie Dean’s there now.” 

“So he is, and so’s Nellie and Bella; it’s queer, 
I don’t know. P’rhaps the awful good ones 
goes at onced and those God ain’t quite sure of 
have to wait.” 

“But where do they wait?” 


44 


Angelward 


“In their graves, 'course. Say, Annie! dyin’s 
queer. Aunt Ann says, when good people dies, 
their hear angels in Heav’n singin’ and that's 
why they always smiles. That little girl on our 
wall’s smilin’ and there’s angels all ’round her; 
but,” and Don looked thoughtful, “I believe they 
’magines they’re singin’ and that there’s angels 
’round.” 

“It must be awful goin’ down into the water, 
Don.” 

“Like bathin’, no. I like bathin’ when Aunt Ann. 
don’t douse me under to get me all wetted. 
Jesus comes and helps them ’cross; but, Annie,” 
and Don looked troubled, “say, how do they get 
’cross in winter? They’d freeze walkin’ on the 
ice with no boots on.” 

“P’rhaps they stays here till summer.” 

“I’d like to live forever and be a queen; 
queens has fun. Teddy says they don’t, but 
he doesn’t know. He says people hates ’em and 
that kings kill ’em; one king had eight wives 
like Old Bluebeard ; but I’d like to be a queen. 
There’s one in Teddy’s book; she’s just lovely, 
and I kiss her ever, every time I see her. What’d 
you like to be?” 

“School teacher.” 

“I wouldn’t. What’d you like to be one for?” 

“I’d lick the boys.” 

“Yes; but I’d sooner be a queen. I wouldn’t 
have to wear wincey any more then,” and Don 
looked down contemptuously at her frock. 
“Wincey’s nasty.” 


Angelward 


45 


I 


CHAPTER VIIL 
‘^smesmerisin’.” 

\ 

'^Say, Annie!” 

‘What!” 

“Ain’t sittin’ on a fence fun?” 

“Guess so.” 

“It is. I just love to sit, and swing my legs 
and think lots.” 

“What’d you think?” 

“Heaps.” 

“That’s not what I said.” 

“O! I can’t tell you all of them. Say!” and 
Don looked intently at Annie, “can you look 
straight at me for ever, ever so long and not 
laugh? You can’t.” 

“I kin so.” 

“You can’t I bet you can’t. Try.” Annie 
opened her eyes wide and stared at Don, and 
compressed her lips. 

“You’re laughin.” Annie shook her head. 

“You are.” 

“I— I ain’t” 

“You are ; you can’t do it.” 

“I don’t care. You ain’t fair. You’re laugh- 
ing yourself, so you are.” 

“I ain’t” 


46 


Angelward 


“You are, Don Fenwick. Fm goin’ home; 
there ain’t no fun doin’ that.” 

“What?” 

“Not laughin’.” 

“You don’t like it ; ’cause you’re weak-minded. 
I can smesmerise you.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Makin’ people what’s ’fraid of you do as 
you want ’em to.” 

“I ain’t ’fraid of you.” 

“You are, or you’d not be smesmerised. Ted 
says so.” 

“He doesn’t know.” 

“He does. Ted knows lots.” 

“Not more’n Sol’m’n.” 

“Sol’m’n’s in the Bible; Ted ain’t. He knows 
more’n Madame’s boy.” 

“He’s silly.” 

“He knows, though; he tells Madame funny 
things; he sees ghosts.” 

“Ugh! he’s the devil.” 

“No, he ain’t. Say, Annie! would you be 
’fraid of him — the — De — vil, I mean? I 
wouldn’t.” 

“You would.” 

“No, I wouldn’t; I ain’t ’fraid of old Wooden 
Brown now.” 

“Well, he ain’t nothin’.” 

“He ain’t! O! he’s awful!” and Don hid her 
face in her holland pinafore. 

“You’re ’fr^id now.” 

“No, I ain’t neither. Say, Annie!” 

“What?” 

“Ted’s goin’ to make chickens.” 


Ai^gelward 


47 


“Out of eggs.” 

“They all come out of eggs.” 

“Well, but there isn’t go in’ to be any old hen 
settin’ on ’em. He’s goin’ to put ’em in a box 
with battin’ in it, and hang it up back of the 
double stove in the day, and take it to bed at 
night. He read it in a book.” 

“They’ll die.” 

“No, they won’t.” 

“There’s Ted cornin’ ; I’ll ask him.” 

“Don Fenwick, didn’t I tell you not to tell. 
Girls never can keep anything.” 

“I didn’t mean to. I forgot.” 

“You always do.” 

“I didn’t tell you smoked.” 

“You’re tellin’ now.” 

“O! I forgot,” and poor Don looked crest- 
fallen. “I’m always doin’.” 


48 


Angelward 


CHAPTER IX. 

THINGS IS SLOW. 

For some unknown reason a change seemed 
to have taken place in Don’s religious views; 
she appeared to be less antagonistic to God. No 
one could account for it as no particular pains 
had been taken to teach her that God is a loving 
Father; for this family recognized him less in 
this respect than in his other more terrifying 
attributes. 

One Sunday afternoon in the late autumn Don 
was sitting on the sofa with the Sunday-book on 
her knees; this was a book with Bible pictures; 
people, animals and heathen countries ; and every 
Sunday she sought solace in its pages; for she 
was not allowed to look at any other picture- 
book. Aunt Margaret had sent for a lovely one 
with all sorts of lovely pictures of horses, cows 
and birds in it; but father would not allow that 
on Sundays. She in her heart rebelled; there 
was no harm in it ; it was so pretty and made her 
feel happy; and then God didn’t put away his 
real cows and horses and other things on Sun- 
day. It is a wonder that a God, such as ruled 
the actions of a person like John Fenwick, did 
not place a black pall over the earth every Sun- 
day; but then it is as beautiful on this day as 


Angelward 


49 


on any other ; and yet many men desire to banish 
on this day all beauty from their homes and 
children’s lives. If beauty did not lift us nearer 
to the Divine state, then might it be thought 
needful to banish it; but, who does not feel bet- 
ter in an atmosphere of real, true, genuine 
beauty; that which is indeed God Himself. There 
is a religion of beauty. John Fenwick was 
sprung from the old Covenanters and beauty sug- 
gested papacy. Don took great comfort, how- 
ever, out of this Sunday-book. She sat quietly; 
for she was a quiet little girl at times; but evi- 
dently having meditated on a certain thought 
and thinking it was ripe for utterance she said: 
'“Mother, won’t it be lovely when we are all big 
enough, Amy and me, and we can sit around 
the stove and read our Bibles on Sunday after- 
noon ?” 

“Why, yes, child ! What put that into your 
head?” 

“I don’t know; I only thought it.” 

“It is a very good thought; I hope you will 
always be as good and fond of your Bible.” 

“And won’t I?” 

“The dear only knows.” 

“Don’t big people?” 

“Why, yes ! only some go astray.” 

“What does goin’ astray mean? Like Old 
Mac?” 

“You must not mention people’s names.” 

“Well, if they’re bad, why not? You always 
tell if people are good.” 

“That’s different.” 


50 


Angelward 


'‘Things is queer. I’m always gettin’ ’em 
wrong. Will I always?” 

“I hope not. You will have sense, when you 
are grown up.” 

“What’s sense?” 

“O! Don, you ask too many questions.” 

“But I want to know. How’m I to know if I 
don’t ask?” 

“You will learn in time.” 

“It takes too long to wait. I want to know 
now.” 

“You will have to wait.” 

“O dear! it’s dreadful being small. Sense! 
I’ll find out what it is. Things come when you 
think on them. I’ll think it over when I go to 
bed.” 

“You ought to go to sleep then.” 

“Can’t; I have heaps of things to think about. 
You can think better, in bed, when there’s no- 
body lookin’ at you. I think lots of things then; 
but, mother, the other night, when I closed my 
eyes, I saw lots, hundreds, thousands and more 
nor that of flies and beetles and awful things, and 
I couldn’t sleep; so I had to keep ’wake; for 
ever, every time I closed my eyes they came and 
frightened me!” 

“What had you been thinking of?” 

“O! ’bout a tree ’way over in Smith’s field, 
where there’s lots of wasps and flies and bees 
Annie says it’s haunted. What’s haunted 
mean ?” 

“Having ghosts in it; but that is all nonsense. 
There are no such things as ghosts.” 

“There isn’t! I’m glad, for Annie says lots 


Angelward 51 

of places is haunted and she says Donald’s a 
witch.” 

‘‘Little girls should not talk about what they 
do not understand. They say he has second 
sight.” 

“What’s that, mother? Second’s two, has he 
four eyes?” 

“Nonsense, child ! you cannot understand these 
things. Wait until you are grown up.” 

“It’s too long,” and Don looked disconsolate. 
“Things is so slow.” 


52 


Angelward 


CHAPTER X. 
don’s faith. 

One hardship of Teddy’s life at Mic-Mac was 
that his father would not allow him to attend 
the school, but instead taught him at home. 
Teddy could not see why he could not go as 
well as the other boys. “There was no fun at 
home.” John Fenwick’s motive was good ; the 
standard of morality was not high among these 
people and the school children were steeped in 
many vices; still Teddy played with them; why 
not study with them? Teddy would in all proba- 
bility have derived more good than harm from 
attending the school; for John Fenwick knew 
not how to teach; he lacked patience with the 
juvenile mind. Teddy detested the lesson hour. 
His father was dogmatic ; he told Teddy a fact 
and expected him to at once understand it with- 
ont any questionings. “Education is that which 
draws out of a person what is latent in him and 
seeks to develop it”; but he strove rather to 
put into Teddy’s mind mental pabulum not yet 
sufficiently modified for his youthful assimila- 
tion. Many of his father’s thoughts were as 
Hebrew to him, and the task was a hard one for 
the boy; at times Teddy would rebel, and re- 
fuse to proceed any further because he could 
not see any sense in what was being taught to 


Angelward 


53 


him. One day Teddy had refused to do any 
more algebra — he was only twelve years of age 
— this incensed his father, who ordered him to 
work out the problem in question or take a flog- 
ging. As Teddy could not do it, consequently 
he had to take the latter. He scowled on his 
father and muttered “when he was a man.” His 
very soul recoiled at the injustice of his father’s 
action; for how could he do it if he did not 
know how? But his father had explained the 
difficulty; yes, but some explanations only befog 
us more and more; Teddy could not see day- 
light, therefore he must physically suffer for his 
mental defect. We punish the mere brute for 
the mind’s faults. True the mind feels through 
the mere body; but true mind punishment is 
more productive of good to us; it is the old idea 
of Heaven and Hell: man burns everlastingly 
for his soul’s errors. It never occurred to John 
Fenwick that Teddy could not understand; but 
it did very clearly occur to him that Teddy was 
a stubborn boy, who required to have his ob- 
stinacy beaten out of him; but as well try to 
beat dust out of the Desert of Sahara; he was 
only beating obstinacy into him; injustice makes 
a child obstinate. He was not yet old enough 
to give his father the credit of doing the best 
for him of which he knew; but he rather could 
not regard him as other than an unjust, unloving 
parent; he hated him. 

Instead of taking the boy off by himself and 
thus preserving his self-respect, he always pun- 
ished him publicly. The mother said not a word, 
for she knew her husband’s dfsposition too well 


54 


Angelward 


to interfere, knowing that he would only vent 
his wrath at her on the boy. A little girl stood 
in one corner of the room, utterly subdued by 
the whole affair; as the first blow of the cane 
fell on Teddy’s back she dropped down on her 
knees by a chair, and layi^ her little head on 
her folded hands, prayed. This was Don, and in 
this time of trouble she had felt the need of 
calling upon her Heavenly Father; intuitively 
she felt the uselessness of persuading this earthly 
one. As a vein of gold traverses the rock so a 
vein of faith was permeating Don’s being. She 
silently poured forth her petition to God; asked 
him to be with Teddy, and also asked him not 
to let father strike hard. Don had faith to-day, 
and it soothed her; she fancied she saw God 
looking down and pitying Teddy, and she now 
recognized Him as a loving Father. Don had 
undergone a religious metamorphosis; one only 
of the many which still awaited her. Sometimes 
small, insignificant events bring forth changes, 
cause latent qualities to shine forth. No one 
knew just what, nor did Don herself know what 
caused this change in her; we develop almost 
imperceptibly. 

“At some time or other men are masters of 
their own fate.” Yes, but not often, and yet 
still, if we only understood God’s laws might 
we not always be? Ignorance of that which 
governs us causes us to develop by blind chance ; 
or as some chose to express it by Providence. 
God is left to work out our destiny for us; yes, 
but if we remained perfectly passive creatures 
He might; but do we? No, we kick against the 


Angelward 


55 


traces and from blind ignorance, so-called faith, 
upset His plans. No one can enter into and obey 
any plans the mechanism of which he is ignor- 
ant. God has placed His whole Book of Nature 
before us; He has given us The Talisman to it — 
Reason — and it is our duty to use the Key and 
read the Book aright. New discoveries are 
made; they are only due to some one’s opening 
of a new page in the book. The puzzle of life 
is ours to solve; God does not wish to indulge 
in riddles; He rather desires us to understand 
clearly His laws and to obey them. Obedience 
from blind trust alone cannot endure; if we 
have Reason, we must use it; for it is given to 
us to unlock the mysteries of this world; if it 
were not so, God would not have given it to 
man and have raised him above the brute; what 
were the good ! it would have been only an idle 
tool to hang upon the wall. No, it is man’s key 
to God’s laws and for our use. It is our bounden 
duty to use it; we cannot hide behind a screen 
of it is God’s will ; we suffer all sorts of plagues 
to devastate our lands; we say it is God’s will. 
Is it? No, but it is man’s ignorance. God al- 
lows ignorance. Yes, for if we disobey His 
laws. He cannot act in disobedience to His own 
laws and step in and deliver us. No; for then 
He Himself would err and that God cannot do. 
As we learn to recognize Him as the Creator 
and Keeper of True Law, then shall we have 
fewer conceptions of an angry, unmerciful God; 
a love-righteous God will then take His place, 
and wt shall seek to work in harmony with 
Him, 


56 


Angelward 


CHAPTER XL 

The long winter had once more set in. Don 
and Amy enjoyed it; for they played in the huge 
drifts, and when it was too stormy, which meant 
very, very bad, they played indoors; but this 
winter was to be marked by an event, which was 
to show its effects upon Don. From afar its 
influence was to be carried to Don in this winter- 
bound small village; an Evangelist was holding 
meetings in Harrisburg, Mrs. Fenwick’s old 
home. His work was chiefly among the children 
and from all denominations large numbers of 
them were being converted. Grandfather Bar- 
nard sent tracts to these two and these made a 
great impression upon Don ; but as usual she 
kept her thoughts to herself, fearing to express 
them lest they should not be respected by her 
elders. She thought seriously upon the subject 
and at last finally decided to secretly give her 
heart to God as these other children were doing ; 
but it must be done secretly, for away down deep 
in her mind was a thought that perhaps after all 
it would be only an experiment. She was not 
yet so thoroughly convinced as not to have any 
doubts. She had lost her defiant attitude to- 
wards God and was just at present in a malleable 
state. The thought that the w^ay of the trans- 


Angelward 


57 


gressor is hard was being firmly rooted in her 
mind; and she thought that in order to go to 
Heaven, when she died, she ought to now make 
a start along the narrow but straight road. So 
far she had advanced only to the extent of see- 
ing the advisability of a Christian life as a means 
of attaining a future reward; and to many this 
is the only incentive to a righteously lived life; 
it is not with them, do right because right is 
right ; but because the doing so will save them 
from everlasting fire. Don considered the sub- 
ject seriously and at last decided that she was 
converted and was on the way to Heaven. What 
conversion really meant she was not quite sure 
except leading a new life. She resolved to 
avoid sinning at all times. It was even a sin 
to steal a pin; therefore she should not do that; 
though she had never been thus tempted, for 
pins were common enough property. There was 
one sin which she did not care to forego — at least 
she called it a sin; lately she had taken a fancy 
to twist her front hair — she had no real bangs, 
for her parents disapproved of them — on a hair- 
pin at night and have some curls in the morning. 
She did admire curly hair and her own was so 
straight. Now Don felt that this was a piece 
of vanity; for the idea that she was vain had 
been over and over again forcibly impressed 
upon her by Aunt Ann; and she now felt sure 
that she was; but it was a pet sin and she did 
not wish to part with it; so, therefore, she com- 
promised as a great many older people; she 
curled her hair, and then prayed to God to keep 
her from becoming vain. What more could she 


Angelward 


58 

do? The sin was in becoming vain, and if God 
kept her from that state, why! surely she could 
have curls; so Don reasoned and was there not 
truth in it? 

With Don’s religious enthusiasm there was a 
tendency to ascetism of a kind pleasing to her- 
self. One beautiful starlight, moonlight evening 
after the early prayer-meeting, Don asked her 
mother to allow her to take a little walk; for- 
tunately for Don’s love of withholding her re- 
ligious views, her mother did not ask her why 
she wished to do so ; but said, “O I yes ; but don’t 
stay out long.” After the rest had gone into the 
house, she walked quietly to the rear of the 
church, and looking around to make certain that 
no one was in sight, she kneeled down on the 
hard, white snow and prayed; on arising she 
felt better and returned to the house. She had 
felt herself all alone in confidence with God; 
there had been no one to criticise her acts; her 
little heart was full of adoration and why not! 
were not the pure surroundingsc, the clear, 
bright star-spangled, moonlighted sky; the fresh 
cold air; the solitude and the white snow; all 
that could be requisite for such an act? Her 
inner man was lost in the Divine Presence. Such 
supreme moments come to many; we are for 
the time being translated to the Heights; and 
the Divine in us strives to wing itself to be with 
its own. It is only an angel stranger here in 
us and yet what a guardian angel to us all ; but 
for our Divine in us, what would we be but 
worms crawling in the dust? Our winged aspi- 
rations bear us away from earthly cares and 


Angelward 


59 


rest us under the great, sheltering wing of our 
Maker. The greater part of the time we are but 
poor miserable human worms, 

“Not like the Gods am I, full well I know; 
But like the worm that in the dust must go, 
And seeking in the dust his woe and weal. 

Is crushed and buried by the traveler’s heel.” 

On this night Don had cast her earth man 
off and was displaying her angel. Such mo- 
ments render a future angel state a reality to 
us; revelations come to us; we may not always 
recognize them; but nevertheless they do come; 
for as a comet once in a long while flashes be- 
fore us, so do these divine moments. Don was 
now consciously upon her upward climb. 


6o 


Angelward 


CHAPTER XIL 

MISUNDERSTOOD. 

The June days and early visitors had again 
returned, and Don and Amy had given up their 
winter pastimes for summer play; sea bathing 
and beach playing were now in vogue. Life was 
one long holiday save for a few uncomfortable 
moments, when Don was disobedient, as her 
elders termed it. On this particular morning 
she was to be seen strolling slowly along the 
shore road, evidently in no hurry whatever ; per- 
fectly unconscious of any need of exerting her- 
self ; she was thinking sweet thoughts ; for new 
matter had been brought to her mind’s vision; 
its horizon had been enlarged; reveling in this 
new field time had passed away unnoticed and 
she was only brought back to a sense of still 
being of this work-a-day world by her mother 
exclaiming as she approached the manse : 
“Don, what in the world has kept you? The 
next time that I send you to the Post Office you 
will come straight home. Here it is nearly eleven 
o’clock! What have you been doing? I have 
just been in the fidgets, worrying about you.” 

“I didn’t think I was so long.” 

“No, you never do. Where were you?” 

“At the office.” 


Angelward 


6i 


"Yes, but where else? Now, out with it/* 

"Well, when I got there Eva was just getting 
her breakfast, and Mrs. Bond gave me some 
toast.’’ 

"You did not require it; but that did not keep 
you all of this time.” 

"No, Eva came a piece with- me and we went 
to the Lovers’ Retreat.” 

"Now, Don, you know you ought not to go 
there alone. Dear only knows what might hap- 
pen to you away off there !” 

"There, there wasn’t anybody there but Old 
Donald, and he was sitting looking at the water.” 

"Old Donald ! nice company for you ! It is a 
wonder he did not scare you both to death.” 

"He’s nice. I just looked at his face and I 
knew I liked him.” 

"He hypnotized you.” 

"What’s that?” 

"Made you think him nice. He is a dangerous 
man; if you had annoyed him the least possible 
accident is that he would have hurled you two 
over the precipice and where would you be 
now?” Don looked serious for a moment and 
then replied, "in Heaven.” 

"I am not so sure of it; little girls who are 
disobedient do not go to Heaven.” 

"But, I wasn’t disobedient; I did not know 
you would not want me to go there. O! it is 
so pretty,” and Don’s face was enthusiastically 
illumined. "It’s lovely up there! Such a nice 
little place to sit; and then, you can look away 
out over the water, and it is so ‘all alone.’ ” 


62 


Angelward 


“Yes, ‘all alone,’ that is the worst of it. Don’t 
you go there again.” 

“But, mother. Old Donald wouldn’t hurt us. 
He talked all lovely about God and angels and 
spur’ts.” 

“Yes, and next time he will be in a towering 
rage.” 

“Did any one ever see Donald angry?” 

“Yes, he is a mad man; and not fit company 
for simple little girls.” 

“I am not simple.” 

“Yes, you are.” 

“I’m not.” 

“Don!” 

“Simples are craky like Madame’s boy; I’m 
not like him.” 

“That is one meaning of it ; you are simple in 
another way.” 

“What way? Words ought to mean only one 
way.” 

“Why ! simple in that you do not know every- 
thing that grown-up people know, and you must 
be guided by their advice until you do.” 

“Well; but, Donald’s not wild. He told us 
lovely things and we saw them too. He just 
looked at us like this, and told us all alx>ut 
Heav’n and we really went there. I saw Cousin 
Mamie.” 

“Nonsense, child! you are dreaming. Donald 
does not know any more than I do what Heaven 
is like.” 

“Yes, he does ; he often goes there. I just love 
to look at him; he is so kind.” 

“He certainly has hypnotized you, and if you 


Angfxward 


63 

do not take care he will carry you off to his bush. 
I wish that he would stay there and not come 
down here disturbing the people. He just keeps 
poor old Madame in hot water all the time; he 
makes her boy wild.” 

“I don’t b’lieve it; Donald wouldn’t make any 
one wild. He’s kind.” 

^‘Don’t let me hear of your going off there 
again, and for punishment for this time you 
shall not go in bathing to-day. Don’t get into 
any more mischief.” Don made no reply, but 
quietly walked off along the Bank, where she 
found Amy picking wild flowers. “Amy, do 
you want to go to Heaven?” 

“No-o,” and Amy looked startled. 

“It’s awful nice. Let me show you how.” 

“How?” and Amy looked incredulously at her. 

“Why! just look up at the sky and think that 
you are there.” 

“But I’m here. That’s not true. It’s a story. 
I’ll ask mother first.” 

“She doesn’t b’lieve it. It’s so, though. Don’t 
you feel yourself there?” 

“No 1” 

“Well, just think and think and think and 
you’ll be there. I’m there; Aren’t you? Yes, 
you are.” 

“Yes,” and Amy smiled. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” 

“Yes; say, Don, let’s live there all the time 
forever.” 

“Say ! we do ; we’ll never live down in the 
earth any more, where ever — everybody’s cross; 
and you can’t do anything but you’re naughty. 


64 


Angelward 


God won’t say that all the time; at least I don’t 
think so. Since I’ve been converted God’s nicer. 
Amy, you ought to get converted.” 

“What’s that like?” 

“Bein’ changed right ’round. You don’t want 
to sin any more, and God seems diff’rent. It’s 
nice. I used to be ’fraid of God ’cause Aunt Ann 
and ever, everybody said He ways always angry 
at little hoys and girls who were enjoying them- 
selves and not doing what grown-ups wanted 
them to do. Grown-ups are awful. I shan’t 
be though, when I am. You’d better get con- 
verted, Amy.” 

“How d’ y’ do it?” 

“Ask God and he does it. It’s queer, but it’s 
nice. You feel diff’rent; you feel like singin’ 
’cept when Aunt Ann’s ’round. Donald makes 
you feel more converted. I love him.” 

“But, Don, he’s wild!” 

“No, he is no such thing; it’s all stuff; he’s 
nice, and good, and loves little children. I 
b’lieve he’s Jesus in the earth, Amy.” 

“Jesus is in Heav’n, Don.” 

“But, but, well, can’t He come down once in 
’while to see that all’s right, and He’s in Donald.” 

“But Donald has a devil in him. Aunt Ann 
says so.’' 

“She has.” 

“No, Don! She’s nice.” 

“To you; but she hates me.” 

“Why, Don?” 

“Don’t know; but she does. I feel bad when 
I see her.” 

“Don, do people have devils in them?” 


Angelward 65 

‘"Yes, o’ course; Jesus used to cast them out 
of them.” 

“Real devils; livin’ ones?” 

"Yes. 

“What’re they like ? Can you see ’em ?” 

“No, goose, you can’t see them; they’re 
spur’ts.” 

“What’s spur’ts?” 

“Things you can’t see; but they’re there all 
the same.” 

“But, Donnie, there’s only one Devil.” 

“There’s little Devils and they get into people. 
They’re really all one; little bits of one big one 
like God’s all one ; three in one, don’t you know ? 
Let’s go to Ted,” and Don changed the subject. 

“How ? We can’t walk.” 

“No, silly ; think and think and we’ll be there.” 

“Like s’pposin’, Don?” 

“Yes, only harder and realer. I’m there now.” 

“What’s Teddy doin’, Don?” 

“Writin’ in a big book. Are you there now?” 

“Ye— es.” 

“No, you aren’t sure. Think again, Amy, 
harder, an’ harder, an’ harder. Now you’re 
there!” 

“Yes.” 

“That’s the way. I’m goin’ to travel lots ; I’m 
goin’ to Hell some day.” 

“No, Donnie!” and Amy began to cry. “I 
don’t want you to go anywhere I don’t go and 
I couldn’t, couldn’t go there. O! it’ud be awful. 
O! Donnie, I’m ’fraid, take me home.” 

“Come on, then; but there’s nothing to be 
Traid of. It’s queer at first; so is bein’ con- 


66 


Angelward 


verted. There, go in ; Fm going to the beach to 
think.’' 

Don climbed down the steep path to the beach, 
and was soon lying flat on the fine gravel, ap- 
parently hunting for clear stones, as was a haoit 
of hers; but Don was only seemingly hunting; 
she was meditating; she had had a strange, new 
experience; she had met Donald, the wild man 
of Mic-Mac; the man whom all regarded with 
dread. He was feared by the superstitious ; 
some regarded him as an evil spirit, while others 
at best declared that he possessed second sight; 
but to Don, Donald was not a terror-inspiring 
creature. At first she had been a little afraid 
of him; but she had always been sceptical on 
the point of what the people said about him. Don 
took nobody’s opinions. The weird tales told 
concerning him fascinated rather than frightened 
her. To-day she had met him in the flesh, and 
yes, in the spirit also. Mind had influenced mind 
and they had recognized each other ;they had gone 
together to Heaven, Donald’s Heaven ; but it was 
all the same to her. She could not as yet under- 
stand the power of suggestion; she could not 
realize that Donald was giving her only his idea 
of Heaven; but she really believed that she was 
there in very truth. As she lay upon the gravel 
thoughts passed quickly through her mind, and 
she was utterly oblivious to her surroundings; 
a wasp hovered over her, but she was uncon- 
scious of its presence. She rolled over on her 
back and shielded her eyes from the sun — it 
was one of those balmy days, not too cool nor 
too hot; and but for its glare the sun was not 


Angelward 


67 


annoying — and then said to herself, the most 
confidential companion she had : “I wonder 
where this world came from; if there was only 
one little piece to start with; one little rock like 
that out there; it must have grown; but where 
did it come from? where did God come from? 
There must have been a beginning. It’s queer; 
and the more one thinks the harder it seems. 
I can think of Mic-Mac being made and bigger 
places too ; but how was the first place made ? 
I wonder if Donald knows. I’ll ask him.” 

“Donalda Fenwick! do you want to be 
drownded ? I never saw such a child. In a few 
minutes more the tide would have had you.” 

‘T didn’t see it coming in.” 

“No, I suppose not! little girls being sulking 
on the sand don’t hear what they ought to. 
Here have I been screeching myself hoarse and 
would not have found you now if Amy had not 
remarked that you said you were coming down 
here. You do your best to annoy me and worry 
me into my grave. I do sometimes wonder what 
I have done that God treats me so. Come home 
and get your dinner, or what’s left of it.” 

Don was thus rudely shaken out of her phi- 
losophical reveries back to a misunderstanding 
world. The tide had nearly reached her and 
might have claimed her as its prey; but more 
probably it would have only gently lapped her; 
kissing her ; for it was in one of its gentle moods 
to-day. She arose and followed her mother. It 
was for Don one of those unfortunate days 
which come to us all, days in which every action 
seems to be either misinterpreted by others, or in 


68 


Angelward 


which we act contrary to all common sense. We 
do not intend to do wrong — Don did not — but 
we certainly have, as we often term it, bad luck; 
we fail to please, even ourselves, and we long 
for the end of the day and a change of fate. Don 
at noon longed already for bedtime, not knowing 
what other dire misfortune was in store for her. 


Angelward 


69 


CHAPTER XIIL 
pretty little girl.’’ 

^‘Mother, may I go over to Mrs. Walker’s with 
Annie ?” 

“Oh! yes, I suppose so; only do not get into 
the water; go around by the road.” 

Away the two little girls ran for Mrs. Walk- 
er’s at the other side of the Bay; one moment 
they would rush along the road to see who 
could run the faster ; then again they would 
saunter along arm-in-arm; but when they ar- 
rived at the place where the road and the shore 
ran close to each other, Mrs. Fenwick’s injunc- 
tion was forgotten and the beach was chosen; 
and who would ever think of walking along a 
dusty road when there was a cool, damp, sandy 
beach so close at hand to scamper over; where 
there were pretty little white shells all pink in- 
side, and where the gentle tide was rippling the 
water on the edge of the shore ; such dainty little 
silvery ripplets that just lapped the tiny stones 
and just touched the toe of your boot if you 
went near enough; and then when you have to 
cross the tiny stream by skipping from one stone 
to another? Why! such a chance as that was 
not to be resisted. Mothers who made such de- 
mands had quite forgotten their own childish 


70 


Angelward 


days; and Don at any rate forgot her mother’s 
command. She danced safely half-way across 
the stream, hopping from stone to stone, until 
Annie said something funny, and then she 
laughed and one foot slipped, and then the other 
one, and she stood ankle-deep in the water; but 
even then she did not feel repentant ; but scram- 
bled out, saying “They’ll dry soon,” and hur- 
ried on to keep pace with a butterfl}^, which had 
flown safely across. Why butterflies always es- 
caped and little girls did not she did not under- 
stand! Annie Lindsay came running along and 
they had a race up to Mrs. Walker’s front door, 
which stood open, and which opened directly into 
the family living room, kitchen, dining-room, 
parlor and even bedroom, for a huge four-poster 
curtained off stood in one corner. Mrs. Walker 
was busily engaged in making scones, which she 
was baking in the oven of great double stove, 
which stood in the centre of the room; so busy 
was she that she did not observe the children, 
until an old woman, who sat by the stove, knit- 
ting, exclaimed: “Och! but ye skairt me sae. 
Libby, dinna ye see the bit lassies?” Mrs Walker 
looked up from her work and seeing who they 
they were, said: “I never heard you come in; 
take seats. It’s only Annie Lindsay and ” 

“Annie Lindsay! did you say? Come, awa’, 
cheeld, an’ let me luke at ye. It’s many a day 
sence I hae pu’ een on ye. My ! but ye’ve grown, 
an’ wha’s this little one ? I hae na seen her afore. 
What’s yer name, lass?” 

“She’s Don.” 

“That’s no name at all, lass !” 


Angelward 


71 


“Yes, Granny, it is ; ask her.” 

“Sich heathenish anes as they hae th’ day ; but 
it’s mair nor that. What is’t, Annie?” 

“Donalda Fenwick.” 

“Ah! I see it. Donalda! Why! that’s after 
Donald. A bonnie eneuch name, an’ I mind weel 
when auld Donald was a bonnie laddie. Ye din- 
na ken what you’ll cam tae.” 

“Old Donald! Wild Donald!” and Don’s eyes 
opened wide. “Was he ever a boy?” 

“Why! yes, child, an’ a happy one tae. He’s 
na sae auld as he lukit. It’s sorrow hes gi’en 
hum th’ lukes.” 

“Did he have trouble?” 

“Trible eneuch, ma lass! an’ ane o’ yer ain 
kind gied it ta hum; Belle McNab hes a’ thet t’ 
ans’er for i’ th’ nixt warld ; an’ it’s na licht thin’ 
t’ breek a man’s hert. Hae a care, ma lassies, 
thet ye’re na gueelty o’ the same sin.” 

“Did that make him wild ?” 

“I’ verra troth it did. He juist greeted an’ 
greeted his hert awa’ an’ took to th’ woods, an’ he 
hes been a wil’ man iver sence. When Belle ran 
awa’ wi’ that worthless callant, Joe Bain, she 
breeket Donal’s hert. Th’ night afore, she an’ 
Donal’ hed been t’ th’ Lovers’ Quarry t’gither 
an’ they hed by th’ licht o’ th’ moon plighted 
their troth t’ ane anither, an’ thin th’ verra nixt 
nicht she wes merrit to Joe. Foolish lass ! She’s 
repinted i’ sackcloth an’ ashes lang ere this.” 

“Where is she?” 

“F her grave this many a day. She didna 
leevit lang after she got hum.” 

“Granny, is Donald wild?” 


72 


Angelward 


^‘Nae, child. At times he hes spells o’t; when 
he thinks he sees Belle as she used t’ be, a’ bon- 
nie an’ a’ thet. Ance i’ a while he gaes t’ th’ 
Quarry i’ remembrance o’ auld times an’ they 
dae say he’s fair i’ Heav’n.” 

‘‘O! yes he is, Granny. Eva and I saw him 
there last week, and we went to Heav’n with 
him. Donald isn’t cross, is he?” 

“No thet I ken, child, save whin he thinks, he 
sees Joe Bain an’ thin he’s fair daft wi’ rage. 
He disna gae t’ th’ Quarry thin; but rampages 
th’ road by McAlister’s bush ’long where th’ 
twa ran awa’.” 

“01 I know,” exclaimed Don. 

“What’s thet you ken, lass?” 

“Why! that’s the time he gets into Madame’s 
foolish boy ; Madame Labelle that washes for us. 
Sometimes he gets awful; he crawls under the 
stove, and tears his clothes, and throws things 
all around, and Madame blames Donald.” 

“Verra likit; he has a queer po’er, they say; 
some hes it of effectin’ ithers.” 

“Has he second sight?” 

“What d’ye ken o’ second sicht? Nae, I din- 
na ken wha’ ye ca’t; but it’s some kind o’ sicht 
differ’ frae wha’ maist o’ us hes; it may be 
second sicht for a’ I ken. But, lassie,” and the 
old woman looked inquisitively at Don, “ye didna 
tell me wha’s ye’re.” 

“She’s the minister’s.” 

“Is thet sae! Well, ye’re a pretty, bonnie, wee 
lassie. Dinna mak ony man’s hert sair.” 

“Pretty!” Don had never heard, never 
thought of herself in this respect; rather, she 


Angelward 


73 


had always thought of herself as ugly; people 
with freckles were, and she had lots of them. 
Whenever she demurred about wearing a certain 
frock, her mother always said : “O ! who’s go- 
ing to look at you?” Surely if she were pretty 
people would look at her; she always looked at 
pretty people; she loved to look at Helen Ram- 
say, who lived at the Seignory. 

“Can’t you two find chairs? I’m that busy 
gettin’ those cakes ready. Sit down and the first 
that comes out of the oven you’ll shall have.” 
Like country children they shyly lapsed into 
silence; Annie sat swinging her feet, and look- 
ing anxiously at the oven, as if longing for a 
scone; and no wonder, for Mrs. Walker was 
renowned far and wide for her scones; Don sat 
quietly gazing out over the blue Bay, and think- 
ing to herself, “pretty, little girl. Well, I never 
heard any one say so. It must be a mistake. 
Granny must have second sight. Shall I ask 
her? No, I guess not; it might be like Aunt 
Ann’s age; she mightn’t like it. I wonder how 
old Aunt Ann is. O! I wish those cakes would 
hurry up; I’m hungry.” 

“Here you are! Just hot out of the oven, 
buttered and all with strawberry jam ’tween 
them; fit for a king.” 

The little girls shyly thanked Mrs. Walker and 
munched the hot delicacies in perfect childish 
enjoyment. Talk of feasts, ye gourmands! 
Ye know nothing of them. Annie contentedly 
swung her feet, and Don looked satisfied; she 
was well-nigh in Heaven, and not alone because 
she was eating jam and scones; but also because 


74 


Angelward 


Granny had said she was pretty; a term which 
she had never considered as applicable to her- 
self. Ye gods! what new thoughts are in store 
for us! Some cynic will say, “a poor thought 
for a child ; it will not bring her much joy. Joy ! 
why, yes! We all love Beauty; Beauty is one of 
Nature’s highest attributes; Beauty lightens this 
world’s burdens; a gleam of Beauty makes the 
hard road of Duty easier. It is a wonderful 
leveler of scraggy snags. Beauty! Ah, yes! 
Beauty is of God. We clothe all our best 
thoughts in beautiful language; we clothe the 
conception of God in Beauty; the world is 
clothed in Beauty; Beauty is the Supreme, and 
why should Don not now recognize it in herself? 
“A thing of Beauty is a joy forever,” so sang 
the poet. Beauty lives; not physical, but soul 
Beauty, and wherever did one find real, true, 
genuine Beauty but it emanated from Nature, the 
soul of which is God. Beauty is not skin deep; 
such is only a veneer, which is easily rubbed away ; 
but true Beauty only increases as the outer coat 
is removed and we see the deeper into the soul. 
The soul’s light shines from within. This old 
Scotch Granny evidently saw beneath the sur- 
face. Don’s features were not perfect; she had 
no fairy curls, she had freckles and a slightly 
up-turned nose ; but she looked wholesomely 
happy and she had a pair of eyes. Many would 
have said very ordinary eyes; they were not 
large and they were only greenish-gray ; but 
they had immense pupils, which dilated and con- 
tracted with her various moods. These eyes 
twinkled and flashed and told her soul’s story. 


Angelward 


,75 

She often wished that they did not. Yes, this 
was a new thought for her, and as was her way 
she must cogitate over it. 

Having finished their treat the two little girls, 
like beggars, prepared to leave, when all of a 
sudden Annie remembered that she had been 
sent on an errand; so far she had been so en- 
grossed with her scones that she had forgotten 
anything more serious. “O! Mrs. Walker, Ma 
wants to know if you’ll let her have your pattren 
for making Janie’s pinnies?” 

"‘Why ! yes, child. Are you going to get some 
new ones?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” and Annie looked shyly 
pleased. Some Holland ones.” 

“I hate Holland pinnies and wincey dresses 
too,” and Don looked down ruefully at hers. 
How could any one look pretty in them? 

“They’re just the thing for playing in. Yours 
are nice, child!” 

“I hate them., I want aprons.” 

“Tut! tut! You are not old enough. Why 
will children always want to be grown up? You 
are having your best days now.” 

“Grown- ups can do as they like.” 

“No, child ; they have to obey, too.” 

"What, Mrs. Walker? God?” 

“Yes, and his laws. There is no such thing as 
being free in this world.” 

“O !” and Don looked wistfully out over the 
blue Bay with a white-sailed schooner dancing 
on its rippling waters. “It’s queer, but I’ll find 
a way to be free.” 

“All right, child, if you can; but now run 


76 


AngelwarD 


away off home; for I see a storm coming up. 
Good-bye. Come again.’^ 

The two scampered off at a great speed at 
first; but after a time evidently all thoughts of 
the storm vanished from their minds, and they 
dawdled along the shores as only children can. 
When they again arrived at the point where the 
shore and roads adjoined each other Don sug- 
gested that, instead of taking the road, they 
should continue along the beach; Annie agreed 
and they stiil dawdled along, forgetful of the 
approaching storm until a drop of rain fell, 
then two, three and more and more. 

“Say, Don, let’s run! it’s pourin’,” and Annie 
took to her heels closely followed by Don. On 
they rushed and down poured the pitiless rain; 
running on a sandy beach is hard work and so 
they found it. At last Annie said: “Let’s get 
under that rock; it’ll hide us from the rain.” 
Whereupon they crawled into a hole in the sand 
under an overhanging boulder, like two young 
ground-hogs, to await the end of the storm. 

“Ugh! it’s cold.” 

“Yes, I’m freezin’. Say, let’s skit. I don’t 
b’lieve it’ll ever stop. O ! there’s that pattren all 
soaked. I’ll get tally-wack.” , 

“Do you, often, Annie?” 

“Yes, everybody does.” 

“No, they don’t. I get shut up till I’m good.” 

“I’d get good awful soon.” 

“No, I wouldn’t; it’d suit them too well; I 
like to keep them thinkin’ whether I’ll ever p-et 
good.” ^ 


Angelward 77 

“Don’t you get lonesome? I’d sooner get 
tally-wack.” 

“No, I always have God near me.” 

“Do you! how?” and Annie looked surprised. 

“Yes; I’m converted.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Wantin’ to do right.” 

“It’s only for grown-ups.” 

“No, it ain’t.” 

“I don’t want to do right; wrong’s more fun. 
Come on, let’s skit!” They crawled from out of 
their shelter and once more ran on; at last they 
arrived at the top of The Bank and Annie hur- 
ried towards her home, leaving Don standing 
under a dripping tree. “Ugh! I’m cold, but I’ll 
stay here for a minute. ‘Pretty little girl.’ ” 
Don evidently wished to remain outside where 
she would be free to digest this sweet morsel. 
“It’s queer, and yet it’s nice. I wonder if mother 
will ever say I am; I guess I’ll skit now,” and 
she dashed across the road and darted up the 
manse steps and was rushing into the sitting- 
room when a hand seized her and her mother 
said in a worried, angry voice: “Donalda, what 
does this mean? Did I not tell you to keep out 
of the water, and here you are wringing wet.'" 

“It’s rainin’.” 

“Why did you not keep out of the rain? You 
could have come home earlier.” 

“We thought we had lots of time.” 

“Now, look here, no excuses. You shall never 
go to Mrs. Walker’s again; you are not to be 
trusted. Get your clothes off and go to bed. 


78 


Angelward 


You are a most disobedient little girl; I cannot 
trust you.” 

“I never meaned to.” 

“No, as usual. Well, in future mend your 
ways or I do not know what will happen to 
you.” Don, as soon as released, changed her 
clothes and went to bed, where she comforted 
herself with the pleasant thought “I am a pretty 
little girl.” 


Angelward 


79 


CHAPTER XIV. 

“tracin\ 

‘‘Donalda Fenwiclc! what are you doing? 
You have been staring at that picture for half 
an hour or more. Do you intend to bore a 
hole through the wall ?” 

“Tracin’.” 

“Tracing what?” 

“The picture. I look at it and look at it and 
go ’round it all with my eyes and see it all. It’s 
hard work; it makes my head ache and I feel 
like screaming; but I must do it.” 

“Nonsense! You must not. You will go 
crazy if you keep on. Was there ever such a 
queer child?” 

“Am I really queer, mother?” 

“Yes, you are; at least I never knew one like 
you.” 

“What makes me queer?” 

“That I do not know, I am sure. Your father 
and I are not full of such notions.” . 

“Are children always like their fathers and 
mothers ?” 

“They ought to be.” 

“Why ought they to be? Couldn’t God make 
them diff’rent if he wanted to?” 

“O ! yes, child ; go off and play with Amy and 


8o 


Angelward 


be like other children. You ask too many ques- 
tions.’’ 

“Like other children.” Don slowly walked 
towards the front door, and walking out of it, 
crossed the road to The Bank, where Amy sat 
playing with a doll. Don, taking a leap and a 
bound, sat down beside her. “O! Don, you 
fickened me. You are so rough.” 

“O! dear, I’m queer, and rough, and every- 
thing,” and Don sighed. 

“Who said you were queer, Donnie?” 

“Mother.” 

“Why?” 

“ ’Cause I was tracin’.” 

“What’s tracin’? Teach me.” 

“No, mother says its crazy, and I had better 
not teach you; I’d get tally-wack.” 

“You don’t want to be crazy, do you?” and 
Amy looked up at Don. 

“No, but I’m not going crazy. Children don’t. 
No, I’ll trace; it’s lovely; but it’s hard. Say, 
Amy, I’ll trace you.”^ 

“O! don’t, Donnie; I’m ’fraid.” 

“Silly! it won’t hurt you. I’ll just sit and look 
at you and look at you; and then I’ll shut my 
eyes and I’ll have a picture of you in my mind.” 

“You can’t.” 

“I can. Now you just look at me, and look 
hard, look all over me, start at my chin and look 
at my eyes and nose and mouth; and then shut 
your eyes, and you will see me.” 

“Will I, Donnie?” 

“Yes, o’ course. Try.” 

“And if I was away from you, Donnie, I could 


Angelward 8i 

shut my eyes and see you, just like having a 
picture ?” 

“Yes; now try.” Amy obediently looked at 
Don ; but evidently lacked sufficient concentration, 
for at last she disgustedly exclaimed: “I can’t; 
you are crazy, Don.” 

“I am not ; you are lazy.” 

“I don’t want to work hard. I’d rather have 
your picture.” 

“But you can’t have pictures of everything 
you see, and if you can trace them you can. I 
was tracin’ that lovely one in the parlor. You’ll 
learn some day. You’re only a kid now.” 

“I ain’t; I’m Arabella Stuart’s mother, so I 
am,” and Amy looked disgustedly at Don. 

After a few moments of silence Don jumped 
up, saying, “Come down to the beach. There’s 
no fun up here. The tide’s out and we can wade 
in puddles and hunt for things. I expect to find 
something funny some day. Hide Arabella in 
that tree where Bruce Mivert can’t get her. I 
hate him; he’s a snide.” 

“What’s that, Don? Mother said you mustn’t 
call names.” 

“O! a nasty, nasty boy. He hid Annie’s and 
my clothes when we were in bathing, and we had 
to sit on the sand and freeze. Fred Lindsay and 
him wouldn’t give them to us ; and Annie pound- 
ed Fred; but they wouldn’t for ever so long, and 
o’ course mother said I staid too long. I ex 
plained, but it’s no use my explainin’. I hate 
him, and I’ll push him in the water some day. 
Walter’s nice, though. Come on.” 

After having hidden the sleeping Arabella 


82 


Angelward 


from sight, the two little girls slipped and slid 
down the steep path to the beach. No one was 
in sight. It was one of those beautiful August 
days, not too hot, and still deliciously warm. 
The tide had gone out but a short time ago, and 
had left the damp sand still fragrant with its 
briney odor. O! stop for a moment and inhale 
it. The children, however, did not; it was their 
natural air, this fragrance of the deep; but 
hastily pulled off their shoes and stockings and 
were soon picking their way over the gravel to 
a flat reef of rocks, which skirted the shore; 
there were little hollows in this reef and in these 
the receding tide had left little pools of water 
with tiny shrimpy looking animals floating about 
in them. Don detested them; for they were 
“crawley’’ and she had an abhorrence of anything 
of that nature. These smaller pools were fringed 
with a greenish mossy growth, and if one were 
not careful she might easily slip on it. The 
regular seaweed-clad rocks were further out in 
the sandy bay. Often after the ebb of the tide 
strange shells and sea animals or their skeletons 
and fragments of wood could be found in \hese 
pools; and these were treasures both to Don and 
Amy. Don’s fertile imagination conjuring any 
old stick up into the resemblance of some ani- 
mal. She could even in her mind reanimate any- 
thing. A wooden child could be bathed, while 
a wax doll could not; hence the pleasure to be 
derived from the former. This day they scamp- 
ered over the wet, slippery rocks in search of 
some new find, when all of a sudden Amy 
stopped, peered down into a pool, and exclaimed 


Angel WARD 


83 


in an awestruck, surprised voice, “Donnie, come 
quick! Here’s the dreadfullest thing.” Don, 
who had lingered behind to paddle with her bare 
feet in a nice, large pool, came hurrying along. 
Amy was evidently rather afraid of this 
queer object; but still her curiosity had gotten 
the better of her fear. Don peered down into 
the pool. Neither of them had seen the like of 
this strange object before; but Don’s curiosity 
must be satisfied by action on her part; so she 
ran to the gravel, snatched up a stick and re- 
turned to the pool, where she at first gently, but 
later more vigorously, prodded the object of 
their curiosity. 

“O! don’t, Donnie; it’ll bite you.” 

“It can’t bite; it’s dead.” 

“No, tain’t. O! look, you’-re hurtin’ it. It’s 
bleedin’.” Sure enough some sort of reddish 
fluid was issuing from a spot on it, where Don 
had injured it. 

“So ’tis! What can it be?” and Don more 
curious than ever, stooped lower over the pool, 
and put her hands down into the water to touch 
it. “Don’t, Don ! it’ll bite you,” and Amy pulled 
Don back with such force that they both slipped 
and sat down in a neighboring pool. 

“Smarty, look what you’ve done!” and Don 
looked ruefully about her; then a sense of the 
ludicrous dawning upon her, she laughed. They 
did look funny sitting there in The water; but 
they could not sit there for long, for the new find 
must be examined ; so Don helped Amy up, and 
they re-commenced their investigation. Don was 
again about to handle it, when Amy again inter- 


Angelward 


84 

fered. ^What can it be?” and Don used the 
stick. *‘It looks like an arm with the hand off 
and a lot of fingers where it ought to be. I 
know,” and she looked up with pride at Amy, 
‘'it’s a mermaid’s arm.” 

“So it is, Donnie! You know everything,” 
and she viewed Don with wondering gaze. 
“How’d you know, Donnie?” 

“It came into my head. It’s the arm of my 
mermaid ; the one I hear screeching out on 
Eagle Rock every stormy night.” 

“I never hear her.” 

“You don’t know how to listen; you have to 
forget everything else, and just think of her, 
and listen, and you will hear her. I can see her 
too. On a cold night I just cuddle down under 
the blankets, O ! it’s so comfy, and listen to her. 
She screeches awful.” 

“Doesn’t she ever come out on fine nights? 
I should think she’d stay down below when it’s 
cold.” 

“She can’t; she’s a sorrowful mermaid like 
Don Quixote’s sorrowful knight; and she has 
to come out when the world’s all dark and 
gloomy. Somebody’s killed her husband and 
children and she wails for them.” 

“I’m glad I’m not a mermaid. Donnie, do you 
really s’pose that’s her arm?” 

“It must be. She’s torn it off wailing. Poor 
thing! I guess I’ll bury it in the sand; she’d 
like it.” Don put her hands down into the water 
and lifted the queer object out, which was only 
a sea anemone. As soon as she had firmly 
grasped it a shudder passed through her; it did 


Angelward 


85 

feel so queer and human; but if it was the mer- 
maid’s arm it must be tenderly treated ; therefore 
she overcame her squeamishness and carried it 
to the sandy beach beyond the gravel and pro- 
ceeded to dig a grave for it, Amy standing by. 
Don did everything quickly, always worked with 
a will, and she had everlasting patience in dig- 
ging to hide away some treasure. She hid her 
best thoughts and fancies. Volcanoes have to 
once in a while unburden themselves; so had 
Don. Don dug on and Amy stood silently and 
intently watching her. The hole was not yet 
nearly large enough for its occupant; Don was 
beginning to feel tired; digging in wet sand is 
hard work; but she steadily persevered. She 
rested for a moment and said to Amy, “What 
are you looking so for?” 

“I’m wonderin’ ’bout that mermaid. Can I 
hear her next time?” 

“If you want to.” 

“I do.” 

“Well, then you can.” 

fp ip__ip Vip lip 

“There’s Walter ! Tra— la— la— ho— ha !” and 
Don responded to the signal. A small boy 
came tumbling safely down the hill as only small 
boys can. “I thought I heard you talking, Don. 
I’ve been lookin’ all over for you.” 

“Have you, Walter?” and Don looked pleased; 
for even now she was beginning to feel the de- 
liciousness of this feeling of being wanted by one 
of the opposite sex. To Don this summer had 
come this feeling that she liked Walter Mivert 


86 


Angelward 


differently from the way in which she cared for 
the other boys. “What are yon doing, Don?” 

“Diggin’ a hole to bury that in,” and she 
pointed to the sea wonder. ^Come on and help 
me.” 

“What is it, anyway?” 

“The mermaid’s arm. Don't you know, the 
one I told you about?” 

“That isn’t an arm.” 

“Yes, it is; mermaids’ arms are queer.” 

“But, Don, they have long, thin hands for 
combing out their hair.” 

“No, they have fingers like this for fluffing it 
out,” and Don attempted to shake out her short, 
straight tresses. “Mine ain’t long like hers, 
though. I wish it was. I’d like long curls.” 

“No, you wouldn’t; they get all tats and 
tangles and you’d cry.” 

“Not a bit.” 

“Do you want me to help you?” 

“O’ course; but it’s most done now. Why 
didn’t you come sooner?” 

“I couldn’t find you.” 

“Did you try hard, harder nor climbing that 
steeple?” and she looked up at the tall spire of 
the church, which rose above the trees and 
glistened with the sun. 

“I looked everywhere; I wanted you to go for 
Lindsay’s cows.” 

“This is far nicer, isn’t it?” and Don looked 
half coquettishly at her youthful lover. 

“No.” 

“Why?” 

“There’s no pigeon-berries here.” 


Angel WARD 


87 


“You can get them any time, but I never saw 
a mermaid’s arm before. The hole’s big enough, 
I’ll put it in now.* 

“Donnie, don t; it’ll bite you,” and Amy shud- 
dered. “I saw its fingers move.” 

“You’re silly ; it’s dead,” and Don took up the 
sea anemone and tenderly laid it in its grave; 
then filling in the sand, she smoothly moulded 
it in the form of a grave and gathering some 
small, yellow sand-flowers strewed them over the 
mound. “We’ll come every day and ’tend to it. 
Say, Walter,” and she threw herself down on the 
sand, “where would you like to be buried?” 

“Don’t know.” 

“Don’t you! Think.” 

“No.” 

“Well, I do. I’d like to be buried over at 
Mount Despair, right out on the point, where I 
could hear the wind howling, and the waves 
beating against the shore, and the mermaid 
screechin’.” 

“No!” 

“Shouldn’t you! Why?” 

“Too lonesome.” 

“That’s why I should like it. It would be 
nice if you would be there too.” 

“I don’t like the wind.” 

“Don’t you?” 

“I’d rather have this. Say, Don! come and 
float schooners. I’ll make you one.” 

“Out of a shingle?” 

. “Yes.’* 

“That’ll be fun. Come.” 

The schooner was finished, a shingle with a 


88 


Angelward 


little stick stuck through it for a mast. Don 
stuck a piece of kelp for a sail and Walter car- 
ried it to one of the pools, and said : “There it is, 
Don; you float it.” Amy looked on in silence 
for a few moments, then the corners of her 
mouth fell and she began to whimper “I want 
one, too.” 

“Don will let you have hers after she’s 
through with it.” 

“I want one now.” 

“You can’t have it.” 

“I’ll tell mother,” and turning her back upon 
them Amy slowly wended her way to tell; but 
they played on, forgetful of her, and were play- 
fully chasing the schooner over the pool, when 
Don slipped and sat down in the water. “O ! 
I’m soaked. I’ll catch it now.” 

“No, you won’t. I won’t let anybody touch 
you. Here !” and Walter extended his hand. If 
it had been any of the other boys she would 
have disregarded the offer of assistance, and 
would have scrambled out herself unaided; but 
it was Walter. 

“You’d better sit in the sun. Let’s climb the 
House Rock and sit in the hole.” The House 
Rock was a great boulder with a depression on 
the side of its summit which faced the sea. 

“Yes, let’s, and talk.” 

“About what?” 

“O! lots of things. Say, Walter! does your 
mother ever say you’re queer?” 

“No, she doesn’t bother much ’bout 
Why?” 


me. 


Angelward 89 

’Cause mother’s always saying I’m queer and 
she never says Amy’s.” 

''You ain’t queer. 

"Don’t you think so, really and truly, honor 
bright?” 

'm.” 

"Would you swear you didn’t think me queer ?” 

"Yes.” 

"In blood?” 

"Yes.” 

"My blood?” 

"Yes; but I don’t want to make you bleed. 
I’ll swear without.” 

"No, that won’t do. People always swear in 
blood if they really, really mean.” 

"I don’t like to.” 

"Y ou think I am queer then?” 

"No, I don’t, but ” 

"You must. Here’s a pin. Now you scratch 
my arm this way and then that way acrost, and 
make the blood come, and then swear” ; and Don 
bared her pretty little plump arm and with a 
resolute air prepared herself for the trial of 
Walter’s loyalty. He reluctantly took the pin 
and gently scratched as she had directed. “That’s 
not hard enough ! harder ! ! harder ! ! !” 

"I can’t, Don.” 

"You must or else I’ll not believe you.” 

"I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“I want you to, for then I’ll know. Now, do 
it quick.” Walter this time, in obedience to his 
loved one’s command, "did it quick,” and a tiny 
speck of blood appeared. “Now swear!” 

"I don’t know how.” 


90 


Angelward 


“O! say, By Jove! I don’t think Don’s queer. 
I guess that’ll do. Hurry up! it’s dr)ring and 
you’ll have to do it again. There, it’s all gone! 
Do it again, quick ! Hurry ! !” In obedience to 
her commands Walter reluctantly scratched 
again, and this time, evidently intending that it 
should be the last, made a deeper scratch. Don 
winced. O ! Don, I’ve hurt you,” and snatching 
her arm he kissed it. ‘‘There, it’s better now !” 

“Yes; but you didn’t swear.” 

While Don and her companion had been so 
intently interested they had not noticed any 
change in their surroundings; but as she pulled 
down her sleeve, which she had pushed up for 
the swearing-in-blood operation, which had been 
such a woeful failure, and had left her sad and 
disappointed, she shivered and then on looking 
at the shore she looked amazed and turned her 
gaze quickly to the sea, and then dow.x at the 
side of the rock on which they sat. 

“Why — the — ti — ide,” she exclaimed in hur- 
ried gasps, and clutching Walter until he almost 
screamed, shivered. He in his turn also took in 
their situation; they had not noticed that slowly 
but surely the tide was creeping in and putting 
them off from all means of escape to the shore. 
He looked at Don and then tightly clasping his 
arm around her with all his small stock of boyish 
strength said, “It’s only the tide We’ll have to 
stay here.” 

“It’s a big tide,” and Don shuddered again and 
clung tightly to him; “and we’ll, we’ll — and I 
don’t want to — ”; but instead of finishing her 
sentence she shivered and looked down at the 


Angelward 


, 91 

dark waters, and hid her head on his shoulder. 
The children saw sufficient to frighten them. 
The sky had become overcast with great cold, 
dark, wet-looking clouds, and worse still, for 
they could have sought shelter from these by a 
rapid scramble down the side of the rock, a 
rapid run across the sand, over the reef, across 
the beach, up the precipice and then home; but 
the tide was slowly and surely flowing in upon 
them. While they had been so interested in each 
other it had insidiously crept in upon them, and 
now all escape by foot was cut off. Not a boat 
nor person was in sight; a gull or two hovered 
near; but that was all. If it had been an ordi- 
nary tide it would have been a comparatively in- 
significant matter, a case of patience alone, and 
not a fear and probable death ; but it was as Don 
has described it, “a big tide’'; one of the high 
tides, which by experience gained by observa- 
tion they knew always covered this rock ; already 
the water was only about a foot below the floor 
of their depression. Fair Luna, sitting en- 
throned in your starry Heavens, are you aware 
of the agony you are inflicting upon two earth- 
born children? Is there no sympathy in your 
fireless, dead self? Has every spark of feeling 
left you? Is there no little atom of heart left in 
your silvery mass ? Are you in very truth dead ? 
a dead sun, a dead earth, nothing but a lifeless 
mass of matter; the dead remains of past fire 
and life? Can you not pity these tiny human, 
living mites and raise your inert arm and wave 
your wand over these cold dark waters and raise 
them in a wall, a wall that shall protect and not 


92 


Angelward 


destroy these little Israelites ? Revert your 
power and save these little ones ; perform a mira- 
cle and save them; but cold, proud, dead Luna 
turned a deaf ear and slowly but surely the dark, 
cold, wet waters crept landward, leaving other 
shores dry and safe for other thoughtless youth. 
No, Luna is not cruel; she would if she could; 
but she cannot; she too is the servant of Nature. 
Would she willingly be a cold, lifeless moon in- 
stead of being a burning sun or living earth? 
No;, she too is the thing of circumstance. As 
she is now, as she was once, so we are now, and 
so we shall be. We are here ; then we are there. 
It is birth, life, and death — birth, life, and death 
— with all things. 

Walter’s face was as white as Don’s; but he 
was a boy and not a girl, and he must act. If 
Don had been alone or with another girl she 
would have acted, but she was with Walter and 
he must do his part, and she be passive. Holding 
her still more closely to him he said : “I’ll holler.” 
Above the surging of the on-coming tide, for it 
was a rough, dark. tide, he raised his shrill voice, 
but to no avail. The wind in defiance seemed to 
carry it out to sea. Not a soul was to be seen ; 
but faintly from the road in front of the manse 
came the sound of voices, whose owners little 
dreamed of the peril of these two. With his 
impatience in not accomplishing his object, as the 
dog which begs admittance on a cold night and 
not gaining it barks more impatiently, and at 
last his bark sinks into an exhausted, gasping 
wail, so Walter’s shouting at last died away in an 
exhausted, panting moan, which was hardly dis- 


Angelward 


93 


tinguishable from the moaning of the sea. Don 
in the meantime shuddered ; she could not 
scream ; it was not her nature to do so. Slowly 
the tide crept up; with each succeeding wave a 
little more spray wet their clothes. Minutes 
seemed hours and never before to them did a 
tide flow so quickly. Don saw them every min- 
ute engulfed ; she saw them dragged from their 
spot of safety and carried away in the arms of 
Neptune down to the mermaids' haunts. This 
direful picture floated before her mind’s eye until 
it seemed a reality. It was awful; but she was 
so glad that she was not all alone; misery loves 
company; and if she had to go to the mermaids 
she was glad that Walter was also there. When 
Walter was exhausted, he turned to her and with 
all of a boy’s conviction that a girl is intended 
for his helpmate, when circumstances compel him 
to seek her assistance, which is only upon his 
being in dire straits, and said: “Don, you holler 
now, till I get my breath.” Don knew full well 
that shouting was not one of her accomplish- 
ments; so she suggested that they sing “Pull 
for the Shore, Sailor.” Walter did not quite 
approve, but he said ”go ahead.” Don in a shrill 
treble started, but was unable to carry it through. 
Therefore she re-started it in a lower key and 
managed to sing the first line; then a black object 
coming down the hill attracted her attention and 
turning a hopeful face to Walter, she exclaimed : 
“Nep !” Walter having now regained his breath, 
whistled; Nep stood still on top of a rock on the 
beach and looked for the spot whence the sound 


94 


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came; then seeing the children he wagged his 
tail, ran out into the water for a short distance, 
took a few strokes, then turned towards the 
shore, and after giving them a look, bounded up 
the hill. “He’s gone,” moaned Don. “Naughty 
Nep!” 

“He’s gone for help.” 

“Yes,” and Don attempted to look reassured; 
a painful attempt. “Let’s sing,” she suggested, 
and once again the strains of “Pull for the Shore, 
Sailor,” were lost in the surging of the seas, 
which was rising higher and higher; now it was 
flowing into the hollow in which they crouched. 
Walter drew Don and himself towards the higher 
part, away from the water; but soon the water 
would pass over the rock. Don shivered and 
shuddered and between whiles attempted to sing. 
In the meantime Nep had bounded up to the 
manse, overthrowing Amy as he dashed through 
the small porch into the sitting-room where Mr. 
Fenwick and his wife sat; he reading as usual, 
she sewing. “Why, Nep! What do you mean?” 
exclaimed the latter as she heard Amy’s cry and 
saw Nep standing wet before her. Nep’s only 
answer was to snatch her sewing out of her 
hand and then to run towards the door. John 
Fenwick looked up and said, “go out, Nep”; 
then as if observing a strange, anxious expres- 
sion in the dog’s eyes, he said, “What’s up, old 
fellow?” Mrs. Fenwick had rushed out of the 
door as if to seek a cause for the dog’s conduct; 
her husband arose and followed her and Nep 
bounded ahead of them down the path. “Don’s 


Angelward 


95 

in trouble,” and Mrs. Fenwick quickened her 
pace. 

‘‘Why don’t you look after her?” 

“How can I have my eye on her all the time ?” 

The parents hurried after the dog, and on 
reaching the beach looked at first in vain for a 
sign of the children ; at last Mrs. Fenwick heard 
a faint sound and then on looking towards the 
rock, clasped her hands in an agony of fright and 
turning to her husband exclaimed ; “John, they’re 
drowning. Save them !” Her husband saw 
their danger, but he was thinking. There was 
no man in sight, nor was there a boat ; and what 
must be done, must be done at once. Without 
answering his wife, he rushed up the hill and 
across the road to the house there, but no one 
was to be seen; he was rushing frantically out 
again when he saw Bill Lindsay coming singing 
down the road. Bill was a great, stalwart fellow 
— he told him hurriedly of his plight. Bill 
threw down his hay fork and ran down to the 
beach, and stripping off his superfluous clothing, 
plunged into the water, made for the children, 
who now clung frantically to the topmost peak 
of the rock, their head and shoulders barely 
above the water. It was a wonder that they had 
clung as long as they had ; but the depression in 
which they stood was what had prevented them 
from being washed away. Bill struggled with 
the tide, which one moment sent him back to- 
wards the shore and the next drove him outwards 
and downwards. Mrs. Fenwick stood with white, 
strained, clenched hands ; never for one moment 
did her gaze leave the rock and the swimmer. 


Angelward 


96 

He reached it at last ; yes, he had his hand on it ; 
no, he had slipped! AA-^^iere was he? There he 
was'! He had Don in one hand and he was tell- 
ing Walter to get on his back. Could he manage 
it? Yes, he had them. Could he swim with his 
load? There, he had gone under! They were 
lost. Mrs. Fenwick shuddered at the thought 
and strained her gaze more intently. No, there 
he was! Could he hold out any longer? Nep 
rushed out to meet him as soon as his dog in- 
stinct assured him that he could stem the tide; 
he caught Walter in his mouth and dragged him 
from Bill’s back. Mr. Fenwick rushed into the 
water — he was no swimmer — and seized Don 
from the exhausted Bill, and Nep deposited his 
burden at the foot of the rock on which Mrs. 
Fenwick stood. Her father carried Don to her 
mother and picked up Walter, who shivered and 
shook and said in a shaky voice, 'T thought we 
was goners.” Don, when once assured of her 
safe deliverance from the maw of the deep, be- 
gan to cry. Her mother looked at her and in- 
stead of throwing her arms around her as she 
herself thought she would have done a few 
moments previous, said crossly ; but it was not a 
crossness engendered from bad temper; but 
rather caused by her highly strung unnerved 
temperament; she was worried, she always was 
and she often sought to blame others for her 
worries, “What took you out there?” Nothing 
could so effectually have stopped Don’s crying; 
she at once saw that there was no sympathy for 
her, and therefore she did not ask for it. “We 
were playing and the tide came in.” 


Angelward 


97 

“And did you not know that it would come?’" 
“No.” 

“Well you are old enough to know, and you 
have seen tides enough, I am sure. I don’t know 
what Walter’s mother will say to you, leading 
him into mischief and danger; if I were you I 
should be afraid to face her ; and here is Bill all 
wet ; and all for a naughty little girl” — Don was 
always blamed. Walter looked on in wondering 
silence ; but when Don in obedience to her mother 
ran up the hill, or rather tried to, she was ex- 
hausted and disheartened, he hurried to her and 
said “don’t mind Don; I’ll swear next time.” 

On arriving at the house, she asked to be 
allowed to go to bed and her mother, thinking 
her safe there, granted her the permission. When 
once the reaction had set in she cuddled down 
and thought over their dreadful experience; she 
closed her eyes to shut out the awfulness of it; 
but whenever she did so, the mental picture in- 
creased in vividness and she opened them again 
to make sure that she was in bed at the manse, 
and not being dragged away down into a hole 
in the bottom of the sea. She could hear the 
surging of the waves and, yes, the wailing of the 
mermaid. O ! it was awful, and she shuddered ; 
then she sang softly to herself, “Pull for the 
Shore, Sailor”; but Aunt Ann heard her and 
said, “if I were you I would be ashamed to sing. 
Naughty little girls ought to repent in tears.” 

“I’m not naughty,” and she cuddled down 
closer into her pillow. “O, dear!” she sighed, 
“everything I do is bad. I wonder if nobody 


98 


Angelward 


else ever does have things happen. Aunt Ann 
broke a glass dish, but she didn’t get told she 
was naughty. I must be made bad and queer; 
but Walter says I ain’t; but,” and she sighed 
again, “he didn’t swear in blood.” 


-Angelward 


99 


CHAPTER XV. 

MEDICAL EXPERIENCES. 

Since the events recorded in the last chapter 
some years have intervened and Don is now a 
young woman. These years had for the most 
part been happily spent, clouded at times by mis- 
understandings. She still thought her own 
thoughts; wove her own romances, and lived 
her own life. Walter Mivert had early departed 
from it; for he had left Mic-Mac and all that 
remained of their companionship was a faintly 
fragrant memory of happy days passed together. 
These memories left no sad regrets, only sweet 
shadowy thoughts, prophetic of some more to 
follow. 

This period of one’s life, if she have not been 
too early launched on the sea of life, is as a 
rule an uneventful one; a period of emergence 
from childhood to adult life, a stage in which 
childish things are cast off and the more ma- 
ture are being considered and adapted to one’s 
being, whereby one is especially prepared for 
the keener, more intense life to come; the life, 
which is to leave its mark of battles fought and 
lost or won; the stage of childhood, the blossom 
stage, is a non-scarring time as compared with 
the adult stage; the period of maturation and 


100 


Angelward 


fruitage. A child has its worries, but they are 
of momentary duration ; it does not lay them to 
heart and carry them around all day with it into 
its joyous moments, nor does it nurse them at 
night; it forgets them; but it is not so in adult 
life, when they cannot be lightly tossed aside ; 
for, even in the midst of his joys (?) the man 
feels their presence or .sees their lurking shadow 
ever beside him. Life should be a working 
time; but work should be a happy performing; 
not a dark, joyless drudgering, as it too often 
is; a sunny, singing, uplifting acting of one’s 
part ; and not a gloomy, sighing, depressing task- 
performing. This intervening period is the ab- 
sorbing and developing stage ; its length depend- 
ing upon circumstances; for Don it had been of 
some length; for after her preliminary educa- 
tion, which some thought should have been suffi- 
cient for her, she had entered upon a course in 
medicine, thereby horrifying many and causing 
some to question her sanity. It is just those who 
have been reared as Don was, amid Nature, who 
make our best students, our foremost men and 
women, our pioneers; they are Nature’s chil- 
dren; while the city-bred boy or girl, spoonfed 
and crammed in the public schools, is a hot-house 
product unfitted for the fierce struggle of life. 
One has thought his own thoughts; the other 
has not. Don stood now on the verge of her 
adult life; the stage of sweet sixteen had been 
left behind ; but not as yet had she entered upon 
that of the sterner realities of life. The former 
is the time of .sweet, dreamy fancies with here 
and there a tempestuous love wave, which for 


Angelward 


lOI 


the moment deluges its victim; but the next 
leaves her high and dry ; love plunges are not as 
yet serious affairs; only little spatterings and 
sputterings in the Sea of Love. At present and 
for some time previous Don had left her youth- 
ful love fancies behind her, and she was now in 
love only with her vocation. The young thing 
requires love, and so does the more mature wo- 
man ; but the intermediate creature can live on 
happily with Ambition in its stead; and she now 
was happy in her new vocation. Like all en- 
thusiastic youth she was full of projects for the 
future. It was what she was going to do — to 
herself though, for Don never toasted — not 
what they would do ; this is the age of Self ; 
when we feel strong alone in our own strength; 
when we regard contemptuously the days of our 
childhood as nonsensical and empty ; and pitiably 
those of old age yet to come, the coming night- 
mare. A career or the preparation for it nar- 
rows our vision for other fields and we are 
selfish beings for the time. The bird hatching 
her young thinks only of them; the young man 
or woman preparing for a career thinks only of 
it and ever hatches out new thoughts; it is an 
incubating time. 

Shortly after receiving her degree Don re- 
ceived a letter from a doctor in a distant village 
asking her to assist him for the summer. She 
was delighted; for such an opportunity seldom 
comes unsought to the newly fledged M. D., 
especially woman. She was slightly acquainted 
with him and knew his wife’s relatives. The 
village was very small, but prettily situated on 


102 


Angelward 


an inland lake studded with small islands and 
a number of people from the nearest city spent 
the summer months there. On the first day of 
July she took the train and arrived after a two 
hours’ ride. It was a beautiful bright day; the 
heat had not yet been so extreme as to parch the 
grass and foliage; all Nature was smiling and 
youthful. At once she was kindly welcomed by 
Dr. Guthrie and his wife. Having been told that 
they were not happily married, she felt inclined 
to at once disbelieve such a statement, for they 
appeared to be all in all to each other, each 
seeming to anticipate the needs and wishes of 
the other. 

The Doctor’s practice extended over a large 
area and there was considerable driving. Don 
was to attend to the office and village practice 
principally and to go to interesting distant cases 
with him. She was in that condition in which 
all newly fledged doctors find themselves; she 
had the knowledge, but its mode of application 
was not as yet clear to her ; everything appeared 
to form an indistinct part of a jumble in her 
mind; it required to be sifted and separated be- 
fore she could faithfully and intelligently apply 
it, and this was an excellent opportunity to get 
it straightened out under the supervision of an 
older, experienced physician. Dr. Guthrie was 
a clever man and an able physician ; a man who 
had studied man as man is and strove to under- 
stand him. He taught Don many things which 
she had not learned at college; for there as yet 
the philosophical and psychological aspects of 
man receive very little attention. Once in a 


Angelward 


103 

while there may be a professor who has a lean- 
ing in this direction, and he may cause his stu- 
dents to think rather than to merely imbibe. 
The world as a whole is too prone to take for 
granted; hence the slow growth of knowledge. 
Mind and matter are inextricably co-related ; 
and but few recognize this. Dr. Guthrie did, 
but he too had become rather disgusted with 
mankind in general, and he declared tliat all he 
practised his profession for was the Almighty 
Dollar, and he frequently remarked to Don, 
“You will soon see that there is nothing else in 
it.’^ 

“No, never! Why! you do see something be- 
yond that?” 

“O ! only as a side issue. You cannot improve 
the masses; you can only polish them up for 
another evil day, and all for the dollars you earn 
by it. You may fancy to yourself that you are 
becoming altruistic; but you are not; you are 
still selfishly working for your own good.” 

“Why, then, have the thoughts you have if 
you cannot apply them?” 

“A comfort to one’s self at times; but the 
public does not appreciate them. Imagine, if 
you can, me telling old Jim Blair that there 
is nothing the matter with him ; that all he 
requires to do is to keep himself clean, eat 
plain food and earn it first! Why! he would 
think me insane. He wishes to be coddled and 
fed on drugs. The whole human race is insane 
on this line ; but if we wish to earn our livelihood 
by this profession we must cater to them. Medi- 
cine is fakery, pure and simple. I often have 


104 


Angelward 


half a mind to give it up and go to farming or 
selling tea-pots in the market The people one 
meets are enough to disgust any man, let alone 
a woman. When one gets a glimpse behind the 
scenes as we do and sees there the lives these so- 
called Christians live, well ! it is enough to cause 
him to say, ‘Fd rather go to Hell than to their 
Heaven !’ ” 

“But one has only to work his own salvation; 
he is not denounced for another’s sins.” 

“It is precious hard to think Heavenly 
thoughts when you are living among such as we 
encounter every day; it is a fright; the depths 
to which some of these people will sink and yet 
pretend to be Christians ; these sanctified Horn- 
erites and Jumpers and Free Methodists around 
here are enough to disgust any one ; they have 
not even humanity enough in them to feed and 
care for their brute beasts. Devilised brutes! 
You will soon sicken of medicine. The scientific 
aspect of it is fascinating; despite what the laity 
thinks, the dissecting and operating rooms have 
no horror; but it is the awful slough of sin-sod- 
den humanity into which you step when you 
practice, that is full of horrors. It is a living 
maelstrom of evil; it saps your life and worse 
still your faith. Do I want the God of these 
people, a dispenser of evil? No, rather would 
I shake my puny fist in his face than accept as 
an act of a kind Providence the death of my 
child! God does not send disease and death; 
people court it by disobeying the laws of life. 
It is God’s will. All rot!” and Dr. Guthrie 
strode over to the window; then turning and 


Angelward 


105 

looking at Don, he said : “You are by far too 
nice a girl to be in medicine. You have entered 
it in ignorance ; but take my advice and quit it.” 

“No, never! I like it so far, and I do not 
intend to allow the wickedness of the world to 
sour me. I shall do my part and ” 

“All very well said, and brave; but you will 
change your mind. Anyway you will not prac- 
tice for long; you will marry.” 

“I am not so sure. I am not thinking of such 
a thing at present.” 

“No, I know you are not; you are taken up 
with this fad ; but as soon as the novelty is over, 
then you will change your mind. You will mar- 
ry; you may marry a doctor and assist him.” 

“No, thank you! Do all the odds and ends 
for him and let him get all the fame! I want 
some for myself.” 

“At present you do, but you will change your 
mind; all women at some time or other are con- 
tented to work for a man’s glory. There is 
Louise, she thinks of nothing but my comfort; 
women are all the same.” 

“I am different.” 

“You may think so, but ” 

“I shall never slave for a man. I should never 
want to marry a man who knew less than I do; 
but I should be very unhappy if I thought I were 
very inferior to him; I shall remain single.” 

“No, you won’t; you will marry; your time 
will come.” 

“You do not seem to think all married life 
bliss; why, then, are you so certain that I, who 


io6 Angelward 

know something of its hardships, shall enter 
upon it?’’ 

^'You will overlook them at the time. You 
will not practice long. Matrimony is a lottery, 
anyway ; one can never tell how it will turn off ; 
there are few prizes and many blanks; but I 
must be off to see old Jane. Poor old soul ! she 
is better than the most of them; but it makes 
me sick to hear her talking of the love of God, 
and its being His will, that she is bed-ridden. 
What a conception of a God! A merciless 
tyrant! It shows the hardened, merciless, un- 
just character of man, who can tolerate such a 
conception of a God. Where is God is Love, in 
it? A fig for the wisdom of this sin-sodden 
world ! O ! make up a bottle full for Hank Scott. 
Make it good and stout; anything palatable will 
not suit him. How man imagines punishment 
of his physical will cure him! Talk of heathen- 
ism! We are heathens, pure and simple; and 
before we go abroad preaching to these so-called 
pagans, let us first get a true conception of what 
Christianity is; we think that because we have 
goten this far we are all right, and that it is 
our duty to bring them to our plane of thought; 
but we require to go on ourselves, for we are rela- 
tively speaking as paganish as they. Religion 
begins at home. There is some excuse for a 
really ignorant heathen; but none whatever for 
a puffed-up, self-satisfied, so-called Christian. 
Our conception of God is no farther advanced 
than theirs, considering our advantages. We 
think that they will go to eternal damnation ; not 
a bit of it! They are striving after a religious 


Angelward 


107 

life as much as we are; only in their own way. 
The Christian’s God is an awful Being. Did 
God make one part of the world and man the 
remainder? No! Nothing but conscious sins 
shall be damned, and the poor Hindoo, worship- 
ping his gods many, is not sinning to his knowl- 
edge; he is serving to the highest of which his 
soul is conscious. What a Christian conception 
to damn such! As well beat an idiot because he 
is such ; if the parents had been beaten perhaps 
there would be more sense in it. God sends such 
an affliction! How kind of Him! He would 
need to have broad shoulders to bear all this 
blame. Man has been given reason to guide 
him ; but he has turned into non-reason ; he does 
not wish to be a reasoning animal; it forces 
him to forsake some pet sins. Well, I must get 
me off to old Jane with her thankful heart to a 
God delighting in chastening those whom he 
loves. Man attempts, and succeeds wonderfully, 
in cheating himself into comfort. What fools 
we mortals do be!” 

Don had just completed dispensing the pre- 
scriptions, when the office bell was rung most 
vigorously, and a young man, fashionably attired, 
entered the office, and looking hastily around as 
if in search of some one, said: ‘T met Dr. Guth- 
rie at the Post Office and he told me to come 
down and consult Dr. Fenwick, as he. Dr. Guth 
rie, had to answer another call.” 

“I am Dr. Fenwick,” and she opened the door 
of the consulting room. He followed her, and 
then, hesitating for a moment, turned to her and 


to8 Angelward 

vSaicl : “Will you kindly tell Dr. Fenwick that I 
wish to see him?” 

“But I am Dr. Fenwick.” 

“O ! I beg your pardon ; but — ” and he looked 
amusedly at her as if uncertain, that she were 
telling him the truth. “I expected to see a man. 
By Jove! This is a joke on me. How funny! 
Why! I never met a woman physician before; 
Dr. Guthrie might have prepared me. The 
Devil! ril have it out with him yet. Well, I 
have an awfully sore throat; caught cold driving. 
Will you look at it? Shall I kneel, or shall I sit, 
or what?” 

“Take this chair; this will be in a good light.” 
Don with difficulty kept herself from appearing 
amused. “Now, you won’t hurt me?” and he 
looked appealingly at her as she approached with 
her tongue depressor. “Why, no! Surely you 
are not afraid of me?” 

“O, no ! only one never is sure what pain a wo- 
man may inflict, when a man is in her power.” 
The necessary^ examination having been made 
with the unnecessary, perhaps, amount of gag- 
ging on the part of the patient, Don stood ready 
to give her diagnosis. He looked eagerly at her 
and said : “You do not think that I am going to 
have diphtheria or anything like that, do you?” 

“O, no! you have only a very much inflamed 
throat.” 

“Thank you. By Jove! I had a scare. I 
am staying here only until to-night and I do not 
want to be laid up.” 

“I shall give you some medicine, and I am sure 
you will not suffer any serious inconvenience.” 


Angelward 


log 


“O! I know that I shall get relief at once; but 
by Jove ! This is funny. Won’t the chaps stare 
when I tell them. I never dreamed of such a 
surprise in store for me. You must be brave to 
engage in such a profession. Ugh! I couldn’t. 
Haven’t the nerve. Don’t poison any one who 
displeases you. What a temptation it must be! 
I’d do it. Good-bye.” 

“Obey directions and you will recover.” 

“O! without a doubt. I should be shockingly 
ungrateful if I did not.” 

“Another experience,” and Don smiled as she 
tidied the dispensary. “I must go down to 
Burns’. I expect that I shall have another there, 
for the Doctor said, “Use a little tact.” 

It was a fine morning and she crossed the 
fields and knocked at the kitchen door of a farm- 
house. A tall, haughty woman answered the 
knock, and standing in the half-opened doorway 
looked at Don as much as to say “and who are 
you ?” Overlooking her manner Don said : “Dr. 
Guthrie is from home and I have been sent to 
answer the call.” 

“I should think that he ought to come himself, 
when he is sent for.” 

“He had an earlier call. Will you kindly take 
me to the patient?” 

“She’s tliere,” and she pointed to a bedroom 
opening off the sitting-room. Don followed the 
directions and found Mrs. Burns lying in bed, 
wrapped in numerous blankets and quilts, and 
groaning. The daughter-in-law followed (im- 
pelled by curiosity). “O ! but I’m powerful bad,” 


no 


Angelward 


and the poor creature groaned as she attempted 
to remove some of her coverings. 

^‘Lie still, Mrs. Burns. I shall take these cov- 
erings off. Does the pain hurt you so badly?’' 

''It’s dreadful,” and she wrung her hands. 
"I’m dyin’.” 

"Not a bit of it ; not for many a year yet. How 
did you get into this state ? What have you been 
doing ?” 

"Nothin’.” 

"Out in the rain or out in the evenings at the 
camp-meeting ?” 

"No; well, I was out last night; but that 
wouldn’t hurt me; goin’ to meetin’ never hurt 
no one.” 

"I say, she’s got the wan’erin’ sciatiky; that’s 
what she’s got. It’ll go all over her ’fore she’s 
rid of it. She’d better have the Doctor down. 
O’ course she kin do as she’s a mind to ; but if 
it was me. I’d be better satisfied. He knows her 
constitution.” 

"That is for Mrs. Burns to decide; but I am 
certain that I understand her case. I shall re- 
port to Dr. Guthrie and he may come down on 
his return.” 

"He’d better. Are you one of them nurses 
from the city?” 

"No,” and Don did not consider it necessary 
to enter into an explanation; but left the house 
and walked quickly to the office. "Impudent 
creature' They are all alike; no faith in their 
own sex.” 


Angelward 


III 


CHAPTER XVI. 

WARNING. 

“Off for the evening, Dr. Fenwick?’’ 

“Mr. Russell asked me to go canoeing.” 

“Ah, yes! Well, don’t give your heart away 
to an old bachelor.” 

“I am not disposing of hearts at present. I 
am beating with clubs ; they mean knowledge.” 

“It will be with spades you will be digging 
yet. Well, go along and have a good time. All 
I regret is that I did not flirt more when I had 
the opportunity. One should enjoy his youth; 
but don’t you watse any affection on Jack, 
though; he’s dead; no heart whatever.” 

“I do not agree with you; there is more than 
one dreams of.” 

“Have a care.” 

“No danger,” and she tripped down to the 
gate, where a man of about thirty-five was 
awaiting her. His every movement was quick 
and decisive, and upon hearing his first utterance 
one could at once judge of his vocation — he was 
a lawyer. He was rusticating here and he and 
Don had become acquainted; he admired the in- 
dependent, bright, clever woman, who possessed 
attributes which the maidens of the hotel lacked. 
Their tastes in some respects were similar, both 


II2 


Angelward 


being fond of the water. After they had passed 
out of sight Dr. Guthrie fell to thinking. “Jack’s 
a confirmed bachelor; but who can tell. He has 
waited long and may now make a good choice,” 
and then disgustedly added: “Young fools do 
not know what love means.” 

“Why, Teddy! they are the only ones who do. 
You and I did,” and Mrs. Guthrie, who had just 
come from the house, looked affectionately at her 
husband. 

“Yes, yes; but some don’t,” and he stooped to 
pick up a newspaper. 

In the meantime Don and Mr. Russell leisurely 
strolled towards the lake. Once in a while, as 
as if some impulse had taken possession of her, 
she hurried forward for a few yards and then 
awaited her companion. 

“What mood this evening? You change them 
like those maidens at the hotel their dresses.” 

“I am in a hurry to reach the lake and you are 
slow.” 

“Pardon me I Why did you not tell me so ?” 

“You should read my thoughts and actions.” 

“I am not a mind-reader.” 

“Lawyers ought to be.” 

“Lawyers do not desire always to be lawyers. 
I am not one at present. You women are always 
playing the part of detectives.” 

“They should make good lawyers.” 

“As far as guessing goes, yes ; but I hope that 
I shall never see the day when they shall plead 
before the Bar.” 

“Why?” 

“Here, allow me to assist you! As usual, so 


Angelward 1 13 

independent. You are an independent chit if 
ever there was one.’' 

^'It comes natural.” 

“Apparently.” 

“But why?” 

“As to my objection?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well,” and as he paddled his canoe out from 
the shore he looked intently at the fleecy, flecked 
sky and then at Don. 

“Well, why not? You are sky-gazing. I want 
an answer.” 

“And you shall have it. Well, for one thing 
we men should have to give up.” 

“Why so?” and she looked up quickly from 
the daisy she was plucking to pieces and over 
which she had been saying to herself, “One, he 
loves me ; two ,he loves me not ; three, he would 
if he could; four, but he can’t.” 

“Do not become excited, Doctorine.” 

“No ; but why should you men have to give 
up ? Could you not endure the poor logic of us 
women ?” 

“O ! not at all ; but why ? There would be no 
pleading for us to do. Now tell me, in all sin- 
cerity, how could I ever get up there and pull 
some fair maiden’s arguments all to pieces? 
Why! I could not; the thing is impossible. No 
man could. It would be cruel.”. 

“Nonsense; man is not so tender-hearted as 
all that. I know a few of them.” 

“And judge all of us by those few? That is 
woman’s logic. Why, if I were to rag a woman 
as I do a man, she would dissolve in tears.” 


Angelward 


1 14 

“Never! Women who are trained and have a 
purpose do not cry at every little puff of adverse 
wind. I do not.” 

“You do as bad; just now, when you said ‘why 
so?’ you looked at me in such a way that, well, 
I had not an answer ready. Woman has that 
way. No, we do not want her in law.” 

“No, nor anywhere else, but just where she is, 
a slave to man and his pleasures. It is the same 
in medicine; but we are going to get into all of 
the professions.” 

“I do not doubt it; you all have pluck enough 
for that ; but do not rush into it too precipitately, 
for every advancement carries with it its in- 
creased responsibilities.” 

“We do not fear assuming our share.’ ’ 

“No; but it may mean a loss of happiness. 
You are aggressive. I did not think you half 
so much so.” 

“No, people never do know me as I really am. 
I am sick and tired of being designated as sweet, 
which is synonymous with inane, incapable and 
all the other ins. A woman must be lantern- 
jawed, raw-boned, big as a house, have a manly 
stride before she can know anything; otherwise 
she lacks professional dignity and strength.” 

“Sentiment rules.” 

“It makes me boil.” 

“Don’t; you do not look pretty in that state,” 
and he looked teasingly at her. 

“What is the use of looking pretty? I want 
to look professional.” 

“It will be many a day before you look that.” 
Don flashed one of those soul thoughts of hers 


Angplward 


II5 

which would ever betray her. He remained si- 
lent, looking curiously at her, and then said: 
“You are not going to get angry, are you?” 
“Didn’t I tell you a woman couldn’t stand oppo- 
sition. It does not do to rag her.” 

“I am not angry, but I do hate to everlastingly 
hear of the inequality of the sexes. Women can 
be doctors and lawyers; they have shown the 
world that they can.” 

“I grant you all this ; but is it for woman’s and 
the world’s advantage ?” 

“I think so; she purifies the professions.” 

“Yes; she has a great and good influence; but 
may she not lose this very influence in her con- 
tact with this sordid world; may she not exert 
it to a better advantage in her home?” 

“Some may; others prefer going out into the 
world. A woman of brains and aspirations de- 
tests to settle down into a stay-at-home-maid-of- 
all-work.” 

“You go to extremes. Do you believe in a 
woman marrying and then practising medicine?” 

“No ; but she may marry a doctor. They then 
will have something in common.” 

“May they not then have too much? Do you 
not think that, perhaps, when a man has the 
leisure to enjoy his wife’s society, he would 
rather throw medicine aside and just have a nice, 
loving time with a sweet, gentle, not-too-brainy 
little wife? I have a friend who has just such a 
v/ife, and he is very clever, a judge; but all he 
expects when at home is to be cuddled up and 
made happy.” 

“If a man has plenty of pussy-cat about him, 


ii6 Angelward 

perhaps so ; but not if he is really an intellectual, 
soulful man. Then he desires something else 
than purring and patting; at least I should think 
so,” and Don vigorously plucked the remaining 
petals off the daisy. 

“So you may attempt to make yourself think; 
but now be honest, Tess right up that much and 
all as you love your profession, that just now it 
is a recreation to pull even those petals off that 
daisy and say gently to yourself, ‘he loves me, 
he loves me not,’ and so on? I have forgotten 
the rest. The romance has been taken out of me. 
Now, is it not?” 

“Only a little something to do, when the brain 
requires a rest. It is all foolishness.” 

“Just so ! and that is why the doctor desires 
to come home to all foolishness ; it rests him.” 

“Well, I can assure you, no man need think 
he is coming home to ‘all foolishness’ in my 
case. I shall play the fool to no man.” 

“He will have to play it to you in your mo- 
ments of recreation.” 

“Well,” and she smiled, “has it then to be 
played by one? I should despise the man who 
knew less than me.’ ’ 

“I should not want to be he.” 

“No danger,” and she looked sternly at the 
distant fields. 

“No, I suppose not. Well, go ahead in your 
profession. I do admit that women have a field 
in medicine, but not in law ; but I fancy that be- 
fore many years you too will have changed your 
occupation and will consider it a pleasure to play 


Angelward 


II7 

the fool, as you express it, to some man. Does 
not Mrs. Guthrie enjoying playing this role?” 

“All women are not Mrs. Guthries. Not that 
I wish to cast any reflection upon her; she is 
kindness itself to me; but all the same Dr. Guth- 
rie has made a mistake. They appear to be 
everything to each other; but they cannot have 
a thought in common.” 

“There it is again ! You see your argument is 
no good; the in-common is not necessary,” 

“I cannot agree with you ; you must admit that 
even if they do agree, he will never be the man 
he ought to have been ; he shall live and die here ; 
whereas, if he had waited longer, married a more 
intellectual and refined woman, he would never 
spend his life here as an ordinary country prac- 
titioner. If he were ever master of his fate, he 
has failed to make use of the opportunity. As 
Oliver Wendell Holmes says, ‘One of those mis- 
erable matrimonial mesalliances, where a young 
man, who does not know himself as yet, flings 
his magnificent future into the checked apron 
lap of some fresh-faced, half-bred country girl, 
no more fit to be mated with him than her 
father’s horse to go in double-harness with Flora 
Temple.’ ” 

“I agree with you; he has wasted his oppor- 
tunity. It is a shame. He is a bright fellow, 
but he is going to seed. He enjoys our com- 
pany ; but, Doctorine, will you take a little 
friendly advice from an old man-of-the- world? 
Do not make yourself too pleasant company to 
him.” 

“I do not see why you should think it neces- 


Angelward 


ii8 

sary, Mr. Russell, to make any such remark,” 
and Don’s eyes flashed; ‘'just because I pity 
him.” 

“I sincerely beg your pardon if I have hurt 
your feelings; only, little Doctor, I know the 
world and I know Dr. Guthrie. He means well, 
but men are vulnerable, and under the present 
circumstances I would advise you to be careful, 
not that for a moment do I consider you other- 
wise; only in a good-hearted, innocent way you 
may be thrown too much in his company. I was 
almost sorry when I heard that you were com- 
ing; but do not take for impertinence what is 
intended only as a little advice.” 

Don remained silent. What business had he 
in advising her? Surely she was capable of look- 
ing after herself. Why did he so misjudge her? 
Did he fancy her a man-hunter? They floated 
on in silence for a short time, which seemed very 
long to each ; neither appeared to be able to break 
the discomfiting silence. Don dabbled her right 
hand in the water and appeared to be much occu- 
pied in the operation, while Mr. Russell gently 
paddled the canoe and seemed intent on study- 
ing the moonlight on the water. At last she 
looked at him ; he smiled and said : “Isn’t that 
a ripe, juicy moon? Why! what is that un- 
earthly howling over there? Do you not hear 
it?” 

“Hornerites ; they are holding a camp-meeting 
over there by Burnses. Have you never gone?” 

“No ; have you?’ ’ 

“Once.” 

“Will you go again? I have a curiosity to 


Angelward 


II9 

attend a service which calls for such enthusiasm. 
There is not much of it in the other churches to- 
day.’^ 

“Yes, I shall go; but once will satisfy you.’’ 

“More than -do so, I expect. What a number 
of sects for such a small village!” 

“The people ought to be very good ; but ” 

“And are they not?” 

“Not particularly so, if one may judge by the 
amount of boating on Sundays.” 

“You think it wrong?” 

“I am rather undecided on the point; most 
people do, though.” 

“A diplomatic answer. You are non-commit- 
talo. Do tell me, Doctorine, what harm can there 
possibly be in a person coming out on Sunday 
and quietly paddling around this lake?” 

“I cannot say that there is any; but still one 
feels as if it is not quite right.” 

“It does me more good than dressing up and 
sitting in a hot church, and one has to dress. 
Imagine the amazement if I should walk in in 
these knickerbockers, only!” 

“Do not pay any attention to it.” 

“Must; one hates to be conspicuous. No, I 
would rather take my chances out here of going 
to Heaven.” 

“One must settle that for himself. I am think- 
ing upon the subject. There is too much church- 
slavery and not sufficient of the Christ-spirit. 
What simple nonsense, that howling over there!” 


120 


Angel WARD 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE CAMP-MEETING. 

“Off again, Dr. Fenwick! I tell you, the Bach- 
elor is in favor. Have a care; these old lads 
are selfish ones.’’ 

“Never a fear. I am safe from Cupid’s darts. 
We are going to the Hornerite meeting.” 

“Going to have him converted first, eh? Well, 
it will not hurt him.” Don walked down to the 
gate, where she found Mr. Russell awaiting her. 
“Are you in a serious mood ?” he flippantly 
asked. “I am not.” 

“I believe that the tent is crowded. People 
come from all around, for miles and miles. 
There is a seat up at the front,” and Don hur- 
ried up the aisle, followed by Mr. Russell. “I 
thought we might as well be in the thick of it, 
and I saw your courage failing.” 

At one end of the large tent there was a large, 
slightly raised platform; the ground was cov- 
ered with straw and boards laid on frames served 
as seats. It was a strange audience ; old men and 
women, middle-aged men and women, young 
swains and their lasses, young men gathered in 
knots by themselves, giggling young women by 
themselves, young boys and girls and here and 
there a baby. The costumes were varied; here 


Angelward 


I2I 


a slovenly man and woman, true children of toil, 
too wearied to dress themselves up; here spruce 
young men and women. It was a motley crowd. 
The leader, a red-haired, coarse-featured man, 
stood on the platform and intently scanned the 
audience; a hush fell and he opened the service 
by announcing a hymn. Then he invited (in the 
most peremptory tones) all those who were seek- 
ing for “The Power” to come out to the front. 
‘Tf you was a lot of thrashers hungry after vic- 
tuals you’d come right out without no urging. 
You ought to be just as hungry after the 
Heavenly feeds. Come ’long. Now don’t wait; 
this is the ’pointed time. Come right ’long. 
Yes, that’s it: One, two, three, four. Are there 
no more? Yes, there’s more cornin’! That’s 
right. Come right up. There’s room and to 
spare for sin-sick souls. Just kneel ’round here 
and if there ain’t room here, get behind these 
here in the front. No matter s’ long’s you’re 
near the penitent bench. Now, my friends, pray 
with all your might for the Glory, and it’ll come. 
It'll descend like the dove. There, it’s cornin’. 
Pray louder, altogether. This sound will rend 
the clouds and go right up to the great, white 
throne. That’s it, sister! You’ve got it. It’s 
cornin’ down all ’round you people in the seats. 
Yes, you, sister,” as a young girl looked fright- 
enedly around her. “You’re sinners indeed or 
you’d be up here. God have pity on them. 
That’s it, sister,” as the above-mentioned young 
woman came tremblingly towards those kneel- 
ing around the platform. “God’s sendin’ you, 
and the Devil’s pullin’ you back. Here you are 


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Angelward 


safe from his clutches. Praise the Lord ; there’s 
one gone over ! The Power’s descendin’ in 
strength. Pray harder.” 

“Goodness! Bedlam let loose,” and Mr. Rus- 
sell put his hands over his ears for a moment. 

“What think you of it?” 

“Awful! Prophets of Baal!” 

“There is a prostration!” 

A young man had fallen backwards in the 
straw, and at intervals, in a harsh, rasping voice 
was shouting “Glory ! Glory ! ! Glory ! ! ! I see 
’em!” A woman was praying in a shrill treble 
that almost pierced one’s tympanic membranes. 
“Lord ! Lord ! ! Lord ! ! ! come down. O ! I’m so 
happy.” 

“I should think so; who is that odd creature 
over there?” 

“Old Min. She goes up because the rest do; 
she has no religion about her.” 

“What a costume; Aunt Sally’s rag-bag!” 

“You may well say so. She is as vain as a pea- 
cock.” 

“How much more of this?” 

“It has just begun. Does it begin to pall?” 
“A bit.” 

“Look!” and Don directed his attention to the 
far end of the platform, where an old woman 
had indignantly arisen from her knees and was 
shaking her fist at the leader. “Ye’re a liar. I 
came last night and you said if I wanted The 
Power I’d hev to take the trimmin’s ofi: my bun- 
net; and so I did. It’s all a lie.” 

“My dear, deluded sister, I did say so; but 
you haven’t took all them off; here’s a bit of lace. 


Angelward 


123 

You must not go half way and expect the Lord 
to grant you full sanctification/’ 

“Mph ! would you skin me? No, I’ll have none 
of your lyin’ nonsense. I’ll go back to my own 
church and wear my bunnet as it’s made. Ye’re 
a rascal and that’s all. The Lord wouldn’t ask 
anybody to do no sich a thing as wear a bun- 
net wdthout a bit of trimmin’. What did he trim 
the earth for ? Shure, and there could be no 
pride in wear in’ this ould thing, that I’ve had 
for tin years, summer and winter! There’s not 
much pride left in a withered up ould body like 
me. No, ye’re a sell ; there’s no religion ’bout 
ye and yer failin’ down. Why don’t ye git down 
yerself ?” 

“Be quiet, sister. Women should be silent in 
public.” 

“Tut! and ye allows that Mary Ann Coates 
to holler herself black in the face. It’s only 
when a woman doesn’t agree with ye that you 
try to shet her up. Why don’t ye holler yer- 
self?” 

“The Lord’s annointed do not need to; they 
are above sin.” 

“Be ye?” and she looked piercingly at him. 
“There’s them no far oif above ye. I’m ofif,” 
and she tied on her bonnet and marched out of 
the tent. 

“It’s a pity there are not more like her. Well, 
Doctorine, what say you to leaving also?” 

“Had sufficient? Yes. let us.” 

'“It is awful sacrilege; hypnotism pure and 
simple. Come, we can sneak out.” They arose 
and were just leaving the tent as quietly as they 


124 


Angelward 


could with having to stumble over the feet of 
some of the kneeling penitents, when the leader 
espying them, called out after them in a loud 
voice, so that all eyes were upon them at once: 
“Young man, young woman, you are going 
straight to Hell !” Mr. Russell turned and gave 
him one piercing glance ; so piercing that a young 
girl near the door exclaimed in a frightened 
voice : “Gosh ! but that ought to scare him. The 
old beggar’s met his equal. Remarking that 
“the Lord will have vengeance,” the leader 
turned his attention to his clamoring seekers. 

“What say you to a paddle?” 

“It is just what I should most enjoy after that 
howling. It will be a treat to get right out with 
Nature as she ought to be. It is such a glorious 
night.” A canoe floated gently on the calm 
water of the little lake and a man and a woman 
oblivious to all else than their present environ- 
ment, enjoyed the delights of the hour; it was 
a silent enjoyment; scarcely a word was spoken; 
each seemed to be so completely happy that con- 
versation was not necessary. There are those 
who express their delight (?) by vociferous 
phrases, loud ejaculations, and energetic gesticu- 
lations ; but there are others whose silence is elo- 
quent of their enjoyment; words to these are 
hollow, inadequate terms; the soul enjoys what 
the tongue cannot give expression to. The man 
who, in holy, enraptured praise, lifts his soul to 
God, amid lovely natural environments, cannot 
finds words to express his delight; if he attempt 
to do so, he feels the utter paucity of them. Our 
best talkers are seldom our best thinkers; there 


Angelward 


125 


is a glibness of tongue with a vacancy of 
thought. These two enjoyed a golden silence. 
Nature was the one tie between them; for in 
many respects they were far apart, perhaps ap- 
parently more so than in reality; he was a man 
of the world; Don was not; but out here they 
were one. Once she had fancied a social life 
pleasant, but she now knew that one cannot be a 
butterfly and be famous ; and at present she 
coveted fame above all other things. You may 
say no woman desires fame; she does, however. 
Don built many castles in the air, and who does 
not, unless she be a self-satisfied ape? No great 
fame was ever won without them; but many 
build in fancy and not in reality. Provided that 
there is energy of purpose behind the day-dream, 
these airy imaginings are not useless ; they wing 
man on to the angel state; without them he 
would still forever and forever grovel in the 
dust as the worm. Man is too often content to 
be only as a worm, when otherwise he might be 
as the bird that soars aloft. Everything in our 
advancement has its use and place; when it ap- 
pears in the wrong direction it is not the fault 
of the thing itself; but of its misapplication. 
There should be no such thing as Evil, neither 
is there ; it is only Good misapplied. Good is 
true, constant and real. Evil is untrue, incon- 
stant and unreal and the result of our contorted 
ideas of Good. There should be no Hell; there 
is in truth none; there are only grades of 
Heaven. Good will live. Evil will not; Good is 
increasing, Evil is decreasing; Good is positive, 
Evil is negative. 


126 


Angelward 


The frogs piped all along the banks of the 
lake a chorus of Nature; once in a while a bull- 
frog would bring his deep bass notes to relieve 
the sweet monotony of the chorus; the moon 
sailed on overhead serenely shedding her dead, 
cold, silvery light on the earth ; she shed it 
munificently on the little lake, making a silvery 
pathway up to Heaven; a poor whip-poor-will, 
as if in challenge to the bullfrog, sang out his 
doleful song, “whip-poor-will ! whip-poor-will ! ! 
A black snake, with its saucy black head just 
above the water, swam close to the canoe, and 
Don, who had been gently dabbling her hands 
in the water, started and said “O!’' 

“It takes a snake to bring us to speech/' 

“Ugh! I detest them,” and she shuddered. 
“They are so suggestive of all that is vile. When 
I see one I always feel as if some horrible thing 
will happen. The dislike appears to be an in- 
herited trait in the human race.” 

“From old Adam and Eve down? Say, Doc- 
torine, do you believe the old myth?” 

“I hardly know; I am hopelessly tangled in 
religious matters. I hope to get straightened out 
some day.” 

“I am the same, but believe that I will not. 
Imagine two people being set down in a Garden 
of Eden and an old serpent tempting them. I 
should not thank a creator for making me such 
a jelly-fish. It is allegory and as that I will ac- 
cept it, but not literally. You believe in Evolu- 
tion?” 

“Yes.” 

“It should settle your doubts.” 


Angelward 


127 


“I am looking to it to do so. I intend to delve 
right down into it; but it is so difficult to eradi- 
cate old theories which one has been taught to 
accept as facts; they are ingrained in one’s very 
being. I suppose, unless one can have the whole 
truth, it is safer for her to be hedged in by cus- 
tomary beliefs; they may serve as a safeguard.” 

“A case of a little freedom being a bad thing. 
Is it not better to have a little fresh air than 
none whatever? Is it not advisable to break 
down your yard fence if it keeps out a little sun- 
light?” 

“Yes; I suppose so.” 

“Public opinion certainly has its place; it is 
necessary for the masses, who have no desire to 
think for themselves, but like a drove of sheep 
must be herded and penned together; but others 
may prefer to think. Often it may prove a 
barrier to their worldly success; for we must 
face unjust criticism; but it harms no one so 
much as he who criticises. Pioneers always have 
their sorrows; but we can endure them. Many 
would laugh at me being one, and perhaps rightly 
so; for I do not set much of an example. I am 
too selfish for that; but I attempt to set an ex- 
ample of freedom of thought and action.” 

“Do you not think that you might have a better 
influence if you would conform a little more to 
certain customs, and yet at the same time retain 
sufficient freedom?” 

“Impossible! How, now, could I?” 

“Why! go to church for one thing.” 

“No; I should be thinking of everything but 
the service ; I should be criticising the preacher.” 


128 


Angelward 


“You should make allowance for him; he is 
only human and attempting to do his best; by 
your going others who would listen might go” 

“If I thought so I might. I do not think that 
the majority of the clergymen are doing their 
best; most of them are only making an easy 
living; it is a profession in which a man has 
more time to devote to study ; while you doctors 
and we lawyers are struggling along with the 
world trying to cure diseased bodies and to set 
wrongs right, the average clergyman is enjoy- 
ing his favorite studies, which are not always 
theology. He does not enter into life as we are 
compelled to; he does not see the sights, smell 
the odors nor touch the polluted as we do. There 
are more real preachers out of the pulpits than 
in them. When I was, attending the University 
I knew quite a number of the Divinity students, 
and I saw what they were after, seven hundred 
and fifty, a manse and leisure in which to study 
for themselves.” 

“And a wife?” 

“Yes; they seek a companion and shut them- 
selves off from the world and enjoy sentiment. 
All romance and sentiment, except such as I 
enjoy out here away from man, has been taken 
out of my life; I have seen too much of the 
unromantic side ; I often feel as if there is no 
soundness in life; you will soon come to the 
same conclusion and for this reason I dislike to 
think of you facing the world; it makes one 
hard to come in contact with its grossness and 
selfishness; if you float along with the crowd, as 
most women do, you may not ever be conscious 


Angelward 


129 


of its ills; blit in your profession your eyes will 
be opened and your heart will be nearly broken 
at times/ ’ 

“ 'If ignorance be bliss, 'twere folly to be 
wise’ ; but if one may rise to higher planes 
through having a knowledge of the world as it 
is, then?” 

"If you can; if the heart is not eaten out of 
you ere you get there.” 

"Is it not worth the venture?” 

"That is the question! I often wonder I have 
lost faith in humanity. Do you know why I seek 
your companionship? Just because, as yet, you 
are untainted by the world; you have high, 
bright hopes, and it is a pleasure to a man, 
who is sickened with men and women as they 
are, to know you; but you will either fall in 
with them or else become as I am, disgusted with 
them — a poor, unhappy soul.” 

"Is not disgust a good thing?” 

"In its place ; but not when it constitutes your 
whole life. Everything but this palls on me; 
there is no sweetness in life. If there were no 
water and canoes I should give up the ghost.” 

"You are not totally stranded, then?” 

"No; but it is after all a small comfort when 
one thinks of what one might have. Excuse me 
for saying it, Doctorine. but I have little faith 
in humanity as it is to-day; I daie not think of 
taking a wife; how do I know that she would be 
any better than many others?” 

"That is rather hard; might there not be a 
woman like your ideal?” 

"True, and a hundred times too good for me; 


130 


Angelward 


but how am I to know that I have been fortunate 
enough to get that one? The race is so enslaven 
in falsehood, that one is not sure of anything, 
until he meets it face to face in everyday life, 
and then he is disappointed ; but there is no es- 
cape. I meet a young woman, beautiful, charm- 
ing; she talks sensibly and then, when it H too 
late, I find her mean, selfish, dishonest and false 
to me; what am I to do? Exist with her? No, 
never 

“Yes; but may not she also be disappttinted 
in you; we are none of us angels?’’ 

“True, horribly true! but one cannot tvar to 
have his delusions dispelled; he would rather 
hold on to them even if they are a few flimsy 
rags of fancy. No, I could not endure it; so, 
Doctorine, I shall remain a bachelor. Ten years 
hence I shall be pleased to hear your opinion 
on this world; but^^ little Doctor girl, I hate to 
think of your awakening.” 

“Evidently I shall either according to your 
theory survive with the world, and be false to 
all that is good, or become disgusted with the 
world and live alone. May I not strive to arise 
along the latter pathway?” 

“You may, but will you? I am speaking 
plainly. One may be brave for himself and he 
may struggle on; but he has a horror of an- 
other and that other a woman, attempting to 
rise above the breakers.” 

“But I am here! What am I to do? I must 
do something; I am not a stone.” 

“Happier if you were. Well, yes; but if hap- 
piness is what you long for, then swim and at 


Angelward 


I3I 

last sink with the crowd ; you will then not know 
what you are missing. Marry a man of wealth 
and average activity, without any lofty aspira- 
tions, let him pet and fondle you, do not at- 
tempt to rise above a woman’s ordinary sphere 
and you may die happy; leave evolution and 
theology alone and medicine ; do not strive after 
knowledge and you may be happy ; expect little of 
others and of yourself and you may live without 
cares; but once aspire and you must inevitably 
be miserable ; woman cannot endure the criticism 
of the world.” 

‘‘She can and she will. I shall never be con- 
tent to exist with the masses.” 

“Then you shall never know happiness. If 
this canoe could be your home, this lake your 
environment,” and he hesitated for an instant 
and looked sorrowfully at her, then resumed; 
“but this is not; this is rather a glimpse of 
Heaven ; but only for an instant ; life is like that 
howling throng over there. Ignorance is bliss.” 

“It is getting late. I think I had better return ; 
but I hate to leave this spot.’ 

“Yes, there it is! Your soul, the only true, 
knowing part of one, recognizes this as its en- 
vironment; but life is not this. Think over an 
old Bachelor’s advice.” 

“Yes, but,” and she raised a pair of dancing, 
smiling eyes, full of youthful hopes for future 
happiness, to meet those of a man who knew the 
world from his standpoint of a lawyer disgusted 
with humanity. Happiness was to him a delu- 
sion, an unattainable will-o’-the-wisp. This even- 
ing he had snatched a few brief moments, but 


132 


Angelward 


even these were made bitter by the thought of 
the world with which he was disgusted. After 
he had assisted her from the canoe he held her 
hand for a moment and looked down tenderly 
into her bright, upturned face; he pressed her 
hand in a way no one had ever done before ; she 
felt queer and looked down wistfully at their 
clasped hands; then he relaxed his grasp of her 
hand and said in his usual tone, “Little Doctor, 
I must say good-bye to-night. I leave early to- 
morrow morning.” 

“Why ! this is unexpected,” and she looked in- 
tently at him. “Do you mean it?” 

“Yes; Peters wants me back in the office. He 
has had no vacation as yet, and it is not fair. 
I am a selfish brute,” 

They walked on in silence, each busy with his 
own thoughts, for new ideas had sprung into 
growth to-night. 

* * ★ s|c 

“Come in, Russell, I have not seen anything 
of you since Miss Doctor arrived. You are neg- 
lecting your old friends. It is pleasant out here 
on the veranda. Here I have been all alone this 
evening. Mrs. Guthrie is in town.” 

“You are not at home when I call. You doctors 
are uncatchables. Yes, I shall take a rest for a 
few minutes. This is a glorious evening.” 

“Yes, indeed. Life is worth living at night if 
not during the day. Have a smoke ? What ! no ? 
This is new. Any one been at work converting 
you?” and he looked in Don’s direction, where 
she sat in a hammock a few feet from them. 
“Well, and how did you enjoy the Hornets? Did 


Angelward 


133 


the Doctor here get you up to the front? She is 
half one herself. 

“Not a bit of it; we turned and fled after a 
short siege of it.’" 

“Brave souls 1 So you did not remain for the 
fun? I should have thought you would have 
had sand enough for that. Why! they had a 
glorious time; half of them prostrated and the 
rest next door to it.” 

“Were you there ?” 

“Me! not a bit of it; but Bill Blair came rush- 
ing into the office like one possessed. I said, 
look here, young man, the Judgment Day is far 
ofif yet, take your time. What’s up ? ‘O ! O ! ! 
O ! ! !’ I said, speak out. Then he glared at me 
and sank down in a chair and said, T’m clean 
tuckered. Come on up to the tent and see after 
the folks.’ I said what folks up at the tent? 
No, you don’t; if people are fools, I am not go- 
ing to run around after them. By this time he 
had gotten his senses collected and he continued : 
'Why, Lil Hart, Jim’s girl, went up and got 
prostrated, and Liz, that’s her sister, went near 
crazy thinkin’ Lil’s dead, and Jim, he run out 
of the tent to fetch you, and he took a spell and 
fell under one of the horses and near got kicked. 
It’s awful!’ Yes, I said, it is awful. What fools 
you people will make of yourselves, tear- 
ing off to these circuses every night. I am 
ashamed of you all. If you would stay at home 
such men as he would stay away from the place ; 
you encourage him. 'Well, you’re right.’ Of 
course I am. 'Will you come up and look after 
Lil?’ No, I will not, I said. She will come out 


134 


Angelward 


all right; but you tell her to come here to-mor- 
row and get some wholesome advice.” 

“Ugh! it is awful. I shall never go again.” 

“That is what you always say. I believe that 
you are hypnotized like the rest.” 

“Indeed I am not.” 

“The Doctor here thinks that she cannot be 
hypnotized.” 

“Has she ever tried to be?” 

“No, indeed, Mr. Russell, and I don’t ever in- 
tend to be a subject. It is too uncanny for me.” 

“Guthrie, what do you think of this, anyway? 
Is it not hypnotism pure and simple?” 

“Yes, but only an exaggerated form of all the 
religions of the day. They all depend upon it. 
People gather together in a church, the thought 
is suggested by their environment that they are 
there to worship a God and they do so. The 
more devout they are the more do they come un- 
der the influence. Your giddy, inattentive lads 
and lassies do not enter into the worshipful spirit 
of the hour. Down at these meetings the thought 
is suggested of receiving ‘the Glory’; what it is 
I know not, nor do they, of being ready for the 
Kingdom of Heaven; and, some more responsive 
than the rest, immediately enter into the hypnotic 
state. It may not be all oral suggestion; the 
leader furnishes one thought ; this thought in the 
mind of the subject generates other thoughts, 
and apparently the person is being acted upon 
by some supernatural influence, when it is only 
a mere man who has thrown out the suggestion. 
All religions are based on this principle; the 
higher the reasoning powers of the adherents the 


Angelward 


135 


less of this apparent supernatural wonderism 
and mystery; the more real, the less grotesque; 
God becomes more human and less spirit. It is 
all as plain as a pike-staff. A high force of mor- 
ality is not engendered in these people; but in- 
stead a mere hallucinatory religion; that is why 
they fail to live good, honest lives. Science, 
pure and undefiled, and not this jugglery, is 
what they require; teach them to obey natural 
law and thereby do right for right’s sake and 
not to save their hides from eternal Hell-fire; 
teach them to put faith in Law ; not in a Personal 
Deity. God is the soul of Nature, not a per- 
sonified spirit ; but they cannot grasp such a con- 
ception; until they can, perhaps this keeps them 
out of worse mischief. They need more of the 
Sermon on the Mount and less of creeds; but 
until there is a scientifically educated clergy, so 
long shall there be error from the pulpits. Our 
clergy do not know Natural Law themselves, do 
not obey it; blind leaders of the blind; they are 
stuck to theology and metaphysics, dead, lifeless, 
inanimated, decayed dogmas and theories, which 
they try to palm off on a developing public as 
adequate truths. If a clergyman does attempt 
to advance he is accused of heresy. Any man 
is to be pitied in that profession; he is tram- 
melled at every step ; he dares not be natural. 
Imagine a thinking, up-to-date man comforting 
parents who are grieving for a dead child, dead 
by faulty drainage, by saying ‘it is the will of 
God.’ He is as ignorant in doing so as an Indian, 
who attributes such a calamity to an evil spirit; 
nay, more so; for the latter attributes it to a 


Angelward 


136 

right source, evil or disobedience to law; while 
your Christian accuses a loving God of such an 
act. It is blasphemy. God cannot do wrong. I 
could wish these Hornerites in Labrador ; they do 
more mischief than one would ever imagine. 
They get hold of a hysterical woman and she 
is of no more use. I have some in my practice 
and I speak from experience.” 

“Well, the Doctorine and I have returned sane. 
We found the lake preferable; but I must hie 
me home. I keep good hours here. Good-bye; 
I leave early in the morning.” 

“Why! what’s up?” and he glanced from Mr. 
Russell to the hammock, which Don had just 
vacated. “You haven’t up an — and been re ” 

“Me! Oh, dear, no! Mr. Peters is growling 
for a vacation. I have remained a week longer 
than usual.” 

“But this is sudden!” 

“Well, yes, in a way; I intended having an- 
other week of it; but my conscience began prick- 
ing me to-day.” 

“So — so!” and the Doctor looked knowingly 
at him. “Are you not going to say good-bye to 
Miss Doctor?” 

“I have.” 

“I see,” and he whistled softly. “Well, good- 
bye, old fellow. Come back again. These things 
pass over. Good-bye.” 

“Good-bye,” and Mr. Russell walked down the 
road thinking to himself. 


Angelward 


137 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

The Doctor and Mrs. Guthrie had gone to the 
city and Don had been left in charge; and now 
she stood awaiting the former, who was to re- 
turn for tea. Alice, the hired girl, was preparing 
the meal and Don stood by the screen door 
watching a humming bird sipping nectar from 
some blossoms. She was in a good humor; the 
day had passed away most satisfactorily, and 
now, as she stood at the door, she presented a 
pretty, fascinating picture of clever, healthy 
young womanhood. She felt, as well, as 
looked well and she knew it; a recent cold bath 
had left its usual good effects and a pretty pink 
blouse only heightened its effects ; her eyes were 
bright and she was in high good humor; that 
state, which so often comes before depression ; 
the sunshine before a* storm. As she stood there 
the Doctor drove up, gave his horse to the boy 
and hurried to the house. He looked at the fair 
young woman. “How are you? Never saw you 
looking better. Has all gone well to-day ?” 

“Yes,” and she regarded him with one of those 
bewitching smiles, which seem to be given to 
women who tempt men, and unconsciously, too. 

“No calls? I am glad. Alice, Fm starving. 
Let us have tea.” And then standing by Don he 
said: “Going to the hop to-night?” 


.’IK:- 




138 


Angelward 


^‘That is well.” 

They had their tea and all passed off merrily; 
but something kept saying to Don, “Take care.” 
She heeded it not, and after the meal was over 
they repaired to the sitting-room, where she 
played on the piano and the Doctor read the 
paper. At last, tired of the piano, she walked 
across to a low easy chair and picking up a Med- 
ical Journal commenced to read it ; he laid down 
his paper and wheeled his chair close up to hers. 
“What is interesting you?’* 

“O ! an article on typhoid. It is not worth 
much, though.” 

“Read it to me.” 

“If you care to hear it,’ and she read aloud in 
her musical voice. The article finished, she laid 
down the journal and straightened herself pre- 
paratory to rising. “Where are you going? 
There is no office work to-night, is there?” 

“No ; but I think I shall retire. I enjoy these 
delightful quiet nights out here. One can sleep 
so well.” 

“Don’t ! I do not often have the leisure to talk 
to you.” 

“Why! we have had a good many conversa- 
tions.” 

“No, only snatches. It is early. Do grant me 
this favor this once. I do not ask many of you. 
Do not give all your spare time to a Bachelor.” 

“I do not,’ and she flushed. 

“Well, no, perhaps not; but I do enjoy having 
some one with whom to talk.” 

“You are not living in a desert.” 


Angelward 


139 


“Almost; one does not meet with many con- 
genial spirits. Say, girlie! you look well to- 
night, never better,” and he strove to take her 
hand ; she snatched it away and looked indignant 
at him. 

“Don’t, pet.” 

“I shall retire, “ and she arose and walked 
quickly towards the hall door. 

“Don’t, Don!” and he followed her. “You 
are not offended, are you? I did not mean to 
annoy you. Just give me one kiss,” and he 
stooped to take it; but she glided out of the door 
and up to her room, where, throwing herself on 
her bed, she groaned, “O! I never thought he 
would do that. I know, I know, I should not 
have been so agreeable; but I did fancy him too 
much of a man for this despicable conduct; I 
did think he could enjoy a woman’s company 
without abusing it ; one never knows. I shall be 
like ice. I hate to allow a man to think that I 
can believe him capable of taking such an ad- 
vantage; but one must treat them, everyone, as 
if they are Devils. All he came home for this 
evening was to have my company; for I heard 
Mrs. Guthrie persuading him to remain in the 
city. He does not love her. What homes there 
are! Make-believes! What is that noise? I 
must be nervous. No, there it is again! Some 
one is crying. She is screaming. It must be 
Alice,” and hastily arising Don rushed towards 
Alice’s room, which was in the rear of the house. 
“She must be ill.” Opening the door she found 
Alice with her head buried in her pillow, sob- 


140 


Angelward 


bing as if her heart would break. “Why, Alice! 
what is the matter?’' 

“O! Oil Oil! I’m so wicked.” 

“What makes you think so?” 

“The man at the tent told me all about my 
sins, and 0 1 O !! I’m dreadful.” 

“Nonsense! stop crying; it will not make you 
any less a sinner. If you have sinned, cease to 
do so, and that is all any one can expect of 
you.” 

“O ! but I’m too bad to get forgiv’n. He said 
nobody that liked good clothes couldn’t get the 
Power, and, and, I do like ’em.” 

“Tut! Clothes are made to be worn.” 

“O! I’m ’fraid I’ll go to Hell.” 

“Not if you do right. Here! stop crying and 
go to sleep.” 

“I can’t; I was trying to and I seen the Devil 
a-swoopin’ down on me with his great big black 
wings and his teeth all ready to bite, and then I 
looked and I saw Jesus on his cross, lookin’ so 
sad at me, and it made me feel bad ” 

“But, did not Satan then vanish?” 

“Yes.” 

“Let that be a sign that if you cease to do 
wrong and do right you shall be good. Come, 
do not worry over this.” 

“I can’t sleep here; every time I shet my eyes 
I see him glowerin’ at me.” 

“Get into my bed.” 

“But you like to sleep alone?” 

“For one nigfit I can afford to share my bed. 
Come, you had better not go to any more of 
those meetings.” 


Angelward 


I4I 

Before very long Alice was sound asleep; im- 
pressionable, emotional natures once they are 
aware that they are in safe hands forget their 
terror; but Don herself lay awake for a long 
time thinking, condemning herself with all a pure 
woman’s horror for the turn her own affairs had 
taken; at last she fell asleep, only a short time 
afterwards to awaken with a start. “What’s 
that?” 

“Lie down; it is only me. 1 have got to go 
out, and I want you to answer the bell. I have a 
call to the hotel,” and Dr. Guthrie whispered this 
close to her ear; then she felt his moustache on 
her face, and he kissed her. She snatched away 
her right hand, which he had held, and pushed 
him from her. He passed out of the room. Alice 
turned slowly in bed and stupidly asked, “What’s 
that?” 

“Only the Doctor; he has got to go to the 
hotel.” 

“O ! I thought it was burglars,” and she turned 
over and was soon sound asleep ; but not so with 
Don. With strained ears she listened for every 
sound and inwardly groaned, “O ! O ! ! what shall 
I do? I will go home to-morrow. I will never 
sleep another wink in this house. The Brute! 
I never thought so-called decent men as bad as 
this. I do not wish for his caresses. I will go 
home to-morrow. I can make some excuse. I 
do not believe he has gone out; it is a lie; there 
is no truth in him.” The hours passed slowly, 
long, agonizing hours in which she blamed him, 
then herself. She heard three, four, five and 
six strike ; and then she fell into a troubled sleep. 


142 


Angelwai^ 


When she awoke she found that Alice had gone 
down stairs; it was eight o’clock; she would be 
late for breakfast, but so much the better; she 
would then escape meeting him, and she shud- 
dered. Dressing quickly she hurried down, as 
she knew that Alice disliked late breakfasts ; 
but when she entered the dining-room she saw 
him standing at the door, looking out at his 
flower-beds. He had not breakfasted yet, but 
evidently had waited for her. He turned and 
said, “Good-morning.” She replied in a cold 
tone, and Alice looked up as if to ask the reason 
of this; but receiving no clue, said, “Breakfast’s 
ready, and late ’nough, too.” 

“I am sorry, Alice, but I overslept myself. 
You should not have waited.” 

“Doc wouldn’t eat his’n till you come.” 

They took their places. Don addressed a few 
remarks to Alice and toyed with the food; the 
Doctor looked at her for some time in silence 
and then said: “Are you not well this morning? 
Did Alice frighten you last night?” 

“No; never felt better.’’ 

“You appear to have lost your appetite.” 

“No.” 

“I guess I did frighten her. My!” 

“No, Alice. I am quite well,” then they again 
lapsed into silence. It was one of those uncom- 
fortable meals which we all experience where 
there is friction under the surface. When they 
arose Don excused herself and went out on her 
morning calls. On her return she found the 
Doctor in the office, evidently awaiting her re- 
turn ; but she took no notice of his presence, and 


Angelward 


143 


after setting down her grip was passing out of 
the room, when he said, “How are the patients?” 

“Doing well.” 

“Wait a moment. I wish to speak to you. 
What is the matter? You are not yourself.” 

“Such a question is superfluous.” 

“Do wait,” as she was leaving. 

“Is there any di.spensing? if not ” 

“No; but why this coldness?” 

“If you don’t know, you ought to.” 

“Why! surely you are not annoyed at me 
for ” 

“Why should I not be?” 

“Girls are not usually.” 

“Maybe not, the kind you know; but I am. I 
shall leave to-morrow.” 

“Never! Do not be so hasty.” 

“I cannot remain here ; you are not the man I 
thought you to be; our agreement is cancelled. 
I never can have any respect for you.” 

“Don’t ! don’t ! ! say that,” and he looked im- 
ploringly at her. “You do not know what a 
pleasure it has been to have you here.” 

“I should not be a source of pleasure to you.” 

“Nonsense! Cannot a man enjoy a woman’s 
company? Do not be so tight-laced. I would 
not do anything to harm a hair of your head. 
Why cannot we be friends?” 

“Never!” 

“Do not say that; you will change your mind. 
Do not save all your affection for an old Bach- 
elor, who will not appreciate it; let me have 
some. If you repress all of your feelings you 


144 


Angelward 


will soon have none ; if you desire to be affection- 
ate you must cultivate affection/' 

‘To waste on some worthless rogue," and she 
looked indignantly at hini. He in his turn re- 
garded her fiercely for a moment — her words cut 
deeply — then attempting to smile, he said: “Let 
us be friends.” 

“No, never! I am leaving to-morrow.” 

“People will wonder why.” 

“I cannot prevent that. I cannot remain here, 
when you have deliberately lied to me.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Simply that you did not have a call last night; 
you deliberately made that an excuse for coming 
to my room.” 

“I did go out.” 

“You did not.” 

“But I did. You are going too far.” 

“I listened and I did not hear you, and I al- 
ways do if you go out.” 

“There is no use in attempting to prove to an 
angry woman what she will not believe.” 

“You cannot prove what is not true.” 

“Take this chair and listen to me.” 

“No,” and she walked over to the window 
and sat down by a small table and began to 
write. He followed her and stood beside her; 
she did not deign to notice his presence. “Will 
you forgive me? I must go in five minutes. 
Let us be friends again.” 

“Never! I once considered you to be a man; 
but now I do not.” 

“Don’t! don’t!! Perhaps some day you may 
know vrhat a longing for affection is.” 


Angelward 


145 


“You,” but she checked herself. 

^What was that?” 

“It is better unsaid.” 

“Do forgive me; I have to go to town; I 
must start in five minutes. Forgive me, do not 
let us part in this way ; you will be sorry.” She 
did not reply; but sat as she felt, like a marble 
statue. Perhaps it would have been easier to 
have said “Yes, I forgive yx)u,” but she would 
not; she intended to make this man feel the 
effects of her disgust. She had been to blame, 
this she knew ; but he was the greater sinner and 
he should suffer. She had fascinated him; she 
had felt pleased at her influence over him; but 
she had not dreamed that he would so easily suc- 
cumb to it; but now he should be influenced by 
her in another way; then she had attracted him, 
now she would repel him. “No,” she would not 
forgive him, and she set her teeth more firmly ; 
the die had to be cast now or never; he must 
know from this out that she was not to be tam- 
pered with. Henceforth she would do her part 
and he his. They remained in perfect silence ; at 
last he bent down close to her; she could feel 
his hot, quick breathing, and said: “Don, do 
forgive me and I shall never err again. I did 
not think that I should offend you; you are so 
different from most women. Come! let us be 
friends and shake hands over it.” She clasped 
her hands and sat more erect than ever ; she was 
motionless ; no feeling portrayed itself. He 
stooped and kissed the clasped hands, and then 
passed quickly out of the room. She did not 
move until she heard him leave the house; then 


Angelward 


146 

relaxing her whole body she let her head fall for- 
ward on her unclasped hands, and heaving a 
great sigh moaned, “Wretch! how could he? I 
should have struck him, but I couldn’t. I am 
glad that he is gone; but I should not have al- 
lowed him to go in this way. I should have com- 
pelled him to get down on his knees and sue 
for pardon; but I could not. I am inert, dead. 
Am I ? No, O ! horribly alive,” and a tear 
trickled down her cheek. “0 1 this is awful. 
What would any one who knows me think of 
me? I had thought it would be glorious to have 
a man in my power and to bring him down on his 
very knees to me, but it is not so. They do not 
really sue for pardon. This one is sorry that 
I am offended at him, but he is not sorry that he 
has sinned; he is hurt at my coldness; but not 
rep«sntant for his act. They totally disregard a 
woman’s opinions. Women are slaves, helpless, 
abject slaves. Talk of their power over men! 
It is all nonsense. Here I falsely imagine that 
I am strong in resisting his entreaties; but he 
comes off conqueror, thinking that I have or shall 
forgive him. I hate him,” Here another tear 
trickled down her cheek. “I must not weep or 
Alice will wonder. I suppose that I shall have 
to remain; for if I go home mother will fancy 
that something is wrong. She has the greatest 
faculty for conjecturing and rightly so. No, I 
shall remain and fight it out.” She busied her- 
self about the office and the day passed quietly 
by until four o’clock, when a tall, slender squaw 
walked in and stood silently regarding her. Don 
had heard of her, but this was the first time she 


Angelward 


, 147 

had seen her. After a few moments of silent 
gazing she threw down a large basket and taking 
a seat she said, “I am the Princess Veroka.” 
Don knew her history. Vv^hen quite young an 
Englishman had adopted her and had taken her 
to England to be educated and brought up as his 
protege; but on arriving at her majority, this 
child of the wilds had pleaded so earnestly to be 
allowed to return to her old home and the haunts 
of her fathers that he had reluctantly permitted 
her to do so, and now at the age of forty she was 
living the life she loved. She had quite a repu- 
tation in the neighborhood for her medical skill, 
and many incurables fell to her lot. She and the 
Doctor were friends, for there was much in her 
shrewd mind of which others never dreamed. 
After fanning herself, for the day was hot, she 
said: “You Doctor woman? I thought so. I 
come talk you. I tell Dr. Guthrie lots things. 
Him smart man; but no smarter, him think. 
Him have nobody ^pose him, only me; and me 
only woman, and only old women trust me ; they 
know though, yes, they know; they feel lots. 
Me a woman, me know; you a woman, you 
know some day ; you young now. At school you 
learn like the men, and what you can’t get a 
reason for you say it all nonsense ; but you soon 
get over that; you a woman and you feel why. 
Man’s man ; woman’s woman. You lots to learn 
and lots of trouble ’head of you. I see it. Las’ 
night I was thinkin’ of you. You had trouble 
last night,” and she looked knowingly at Don, 
who in her turn said in a somewhat embarrassed 
tone, “How do you know ?” 


148 Angelward 

“I feel. I not tell any one ; but I know ; spirits 
tell me; they tell you, too, some day You have 
heart-breaks,’’ and she caught hold of Don’s 
hand, “You love men and you think they love 
you ; but you find that they don’t in the way you 
want them to love you; you not tell any one; 
you too brave. Some day you love a man and 
he’ll be taken from you ; you feel bad ; but just 
then you find one to help and you take him and 
you marry him not ’cause you love him much, 
but ’cause you know he needs you ; and the world 
needs you. Another man, one you knew when 
you little girl, come into your life and make 
trouble for you. You love him ’fore you knew 
him ; you not love him for long ; him queer, mad.” 

“O!” and Don drew her hand away. 

“You needn’t be ’fraid; it all come right in 
the end. Come, see me to-morrow afternoon ; 
stay for tea, and I’ll tell you things. Come !” and 
before Don could answer her she had glided 
quietly out of the office and was hurrying to- 
wards the gate ; but on reaching it she turned 
and said : “I’ll expect you. Come !” 

“I’ll go” ; and Don fell to musing over her re- 
cent experiences; “for maybe she will tell me 
something. Those people know more than one 
cares to give them credit for.” 


Angelward 


149 


CHAPTER XIX. 

'^There!” and Donalda Fenwick, who had 
crossed the first field in the rear of Dr. Guthrie’s 
residence, threw a stick up into the air. ‘'There, 
stick, with you go all my disagreeables.” What 
a day it has been ! My feelings have indeed been 
kept in cold storage ; I have been an iceberg itself 
and how I hate it; but it is all I can do. I hate 
that man; no, I despise him; I detest him; but 
that is all behind me for a few hours; I am off 
to Veroka’s to learn what she has to tell me,” and 
she again slackened her pace and walked medita- 
tively towards the lake. 

Veroka lived in a lonely spot on the shore of 
Mud Lake. Needless to say few frequented the 
spot, save those who sought her medically, and 
a few lovers, who made bold by curiosity as to 
their fut^ire, summed up courage to approach 
the haunts of witchcraft. At any hour of the 
day or night she might be encountered, and none 
but the brave dare risk meeting her. At mid- 
night of a moonlight night, when the shadow of 
every tree might be a ghost, she loved to roam 
abroad, and often her canoe might be seen float- 
ing gently on the calm water, and a weird song 
ascending from it would be the only evidence of 
its being occupied. Veroka then communed with 
Nature; she felt no fear; she was one with it and 


Angelward 


150 

for her man had no terrors; for he feared her. 
On taking a turn in the road, Don saw the In- 
dian woman standing on a huge boulder, evi- 
dently awaiting her. “I knew you come. Hard 
to find my wigwam ; so I come meet you. Live 
in wigwam like my fadder ; Indiaji in me. Can’t 
drive Indian out. Live in England ten years ; no 
good, can’t stay; come back here. Come ’way; 
but first, how you like my dress ?” and she looked 
down self-consciously at her clothing. The 
gown of flimsy red caught at her waist by a many 
colored silken sash suited her tall figure and con- 
trasted well with her swarthy complexion and 
wealth of black hair, which hung down her back 
in two long braids. A bright red silk handker- 
chief folded into a turban covered her head ; and 
her feet were encased in a pair of bright red 
beaded slippers. With all the grace of a child 
of Nature, and the stateliness of an English wo- 
man of rank, she stood silently and expectantly 
awaiting Don’s reply, and with all an Indian’s 
love of flattery, evidently demanding a favor- 
able comment. 

‘T am so charmed that I forgot to express my 
admiration. It is most becoming.” 

''Yes, I think so ; I knew that you would like 
it. Not much like what I wore yesterday. 
People stare if I wear this. Call me Devil, 
’cause I know things. I want tell you some 
things; but come into my home. How you like 
it?” 

“It is lovely,” and Don stood and gazed with 
surprise at the interior of the wigwam.^ She had 
expected to find a dirty, smoky, weather-stained 


Angelward 


I5I 

hovel ; but here, instead, was a fairy bower in the 
woods. The ground was covered with pine and 
cedar branches and fur lugs; the walls were 
hung with birch bark and bead work ornaments ; 
old relics of Indian warfare, clubs, scalping 
knives, with here and there some sign of English 
culture. Nature and civilization blended in this 
home of this child of Nature, whom civilization 
had partially claimed. A huge mirror in a gilded 
frame stood in one corner ; and as she stood near 
it the acute observer could see that she turned 
to admire herself; pillows lay around in abund- 
ance, denoting a love of comfort in the owner; 
a hanging lamp with a gorgeous shade was sus- 
pended from the top of the wigwam, and a guitar 
lay on a bamlx)o table. Just outside the door a 
gaily colored, modern hammock swung between 
two pine trees. “That my bed in fine weather. 
Fresh air all the time. I love this life. Couldn’t 
live English.” 

“I do not wonder; this is delightful.” 

“You come stay with me some time, when you 
practice.” 

“Thank you ; I should love to.” 

“Yes, do; but come, sit down; take that chair. 
I sit Indian on ground.” 

“So shall I.” 

“That pretty of you ! You know what is what ! 
You love Nature!” 

“Indeed I do.” 

“Yes; and so do that man in the canoe. I see 
you. He sad lonely man; but he brave. If he 
only really knew life he be happier; but people 
don’t know. You like canoe?” 


152 


Angelward 


“Above all things.’" 

“We go, sunset. I love the water then, and 
when the moon big; when sun dip, dip red, and 
moon sail, sail away on, that grand ! grand ! ! 
My!” and she clasped her hands in an Indian’s 
ecstasy of silent delight; then suddenly springing 
up she said: “Now I make you cup of tea. I 
learn in England. I love English tea. I use 
spirit lamp. Funny see Indian use lamp.” She 
served Don with a delicious cup of tea and bread 
and butter; and then squatting in front of her 
said : “I happy ; I like you. Not often I find 
people I like; they laugh at me, say me queer. 
I don’t live like them; can’t live like Indian 
neither. Have to be both and nobody then 
understand me; they never can; if you want be 
somebody you have to do as you think best. I 
could be married in England; but, O, no! In- 
dian couldn’t be slave white man. Men and wo- 
men slaves! They do wrong, ’cause they don’t 
know better; they try their own way; me the 
Great Nature’s way; they don’t want to know, 
for they think they can’t have pleasure. The 
Indian, when he real Indian, when white man 
not made him bad, do as Nature tell him. You 
say Nature tell him awful things? No, not aw- 
ful for him. He scalp other Indian long ago. It 
right for him then. It cruel, but no crueller than 
white man , he cheat his brother. All as you look 
at it. Veroka study; when she go England every- 
thing queer; she think, and think, and then she 
know. Indian know more nor white man; In- 
dian obey Nature, white man nothing but him- 
self; him know only one Great Spirit and that 


Angelward 


153 


himself. White man make slave of his wife. 
You say Indian make his squaw do work for 
him, him lazy dog ? He do that and it not right ; 
but he not so bad white man; work don’t kill. 
Indian go off huntin’; him work, too; only dif- 
ferent work; but him take care of his squaw. 
She have lot papoose; but him don’t abuse her. 
You see some day what I mean. Indian woman 
not suffer like white. You know reason some 
day. You not find that in books; but in Nature 
all around you. Why, there no deformed In- 
dians born?” 

'‘I suppose that they kill them or they die of 
neglect.” 

“There never are any; Indian good to his 
squaw. Cripple made ’fore he born. No Indian 
born cripple. No, never! He give a chance. 
He grow and born like little rabbit, bird ; natural. 
You do what Nature tells you and you make no 
mistake.” 

“But it is so hard to know just what Nature 
does want us to do.” 

“Yes, hard for white man, ’cause he have wan- 
dered away so far from Nature. Him make it 
hard. Come, let’s go on water! ’Fraid birch 
bark canoe ?” 

“Not with you for a captain.” 

“Thank you,” and Veroka smiled. “We’ll for- 
get man out here; we’ll live. Can’t live with 
white man nor kind of poor Indian, half white. 
We’ll live with Nature.” The canoe was gently 
steered out into the middle of the lake, and then 
Veroka rested on her paddle and looked at Don. 
“Isn’t this Happy Hunting Ground? This near 


154 


Angelward 


Great Spirit. When I out here I forget bad 
world. I live with spirits; I talk with them. 
Great Spirit near me. I hear lot of things. You 
will some day. It take long time, maybe; for 
you won’t stop to think; but some day you will 
ask ‘why!’ Nature will answer you, and you will 
be happy. Now just sit and enjoy Nature.” The 
squaw gently paddled her canoe out again into 
midstream, and then resting her paddle gazed at 
the sky, a silent rapture illuminating her dark 
face. It was what Don considered a Heavenly 
smile. “I wonder if it is all imagination or if it 
is real. We are told that those who are depart- 
ing from this world see the glories of Heaven 
and that they oftentimes smile. I wonder if 
there is anything in it. There is a Heaven and 
Future Life; but where and what is it?” So Don 
soliloquized as they drifted slowly down towards 
her landing. The canoe gently stopped and 
Veroka said: “You want to land? I want to 
keep you, but ” 

“Thank you, I think I must.” 

“Very well. Thank you for coming to see an 
old squaw.” 

“I am the favored one.” 

“That sweet of you; but, no, it is me.” 


Angelward 


155 


CHAPTER XX. 

‘‘Dr. Fenwick, is your trunk down stairs?” 

“No, Mrs. Guthrie; but James can carry it 
down.” 

“James has gone to the office, but I shall fetch 
it,” and Dr. Guthrie ran up the front stair to 
where the trunk stood ready in the upper hall. 
Don followed in order to carry down some small 
parcels. He was just lifting the trunk as he ap- 
peared at her door. He stopped and looking 
most pleadingly at her, said: “Don, do kiss me 
once before you go, and I shall then know that 
you have forgiven me and that we are friends 
again.^' 

“No,” and she looked indignantly at him. 
“How dare you ask me ?” 

“Is this the way in which you repay a man’s 
kindness?” 

“I thank you for all you have done for me; 
our relationship is purely a business one, and 
therefore kindness is not to be thought of; you 
strive to appeal to a woman’s weakest point, 
Love and Gratitude; but you shall do so in vain 
in this case.” 

“Your ideas will change as mine have; you 
will find the world different from what you an- 
ticipated, and you will then long for sympathy.” 

“Not in an illegitimate way, no,” and Don ran 


Angelward 


156 

down the stairs, saying to herself, ‘'I’ll never 
set foot in this house again.” Having said 
good-bye to Mrs. Guthrie, having kissed the 
baby, she stepped into the stage and then 
coldly shook hands with the Doctor. She 
leaned back in her seat, scanned the faces 
of her fellow-passengers, and then, as was 
her wont, fell to meditating. ^'IVe had a 
lesson. Now I have some idea of what 
temptations some girls have and all for what 
is called Love. It is not. Love must be true 
to right, and this is not, it is only a make-believe, 
a sham. I shall be wiser again. I erred in being 
attractive to him. I should have been cold; but 
one does like to be natural; I suppose from 
this out I shall have to be unnatural, fierce, a 
cold woman if I am to be safe. It is awful to 
think of any one being compelled to assume such 
a role. What a world! Virtue lost! Mr. Rus- 
sell is right; but I shall not worry over it; life 
is too short for worry,” and with this comforting 
philosophical conclusion she cast the thought 
aside and opened her book. 


Angelward 


157 


CHAPTER XXL 

The Norseman flowed through the Atlantic. 
The ocean was !i^^)derately calm with just the 
ordinary Atlantic swell, even if it were March, 
when one expects gales. The moon was high in 
the Heavens and shed her gentle light on the 
vast expanse of water, forming a golden streak 
leading to the horizon ; each billow was crested 
with moonlit jets of spray; it was a glorious 
night; a soft southwest wind blew steadily, 
softly; but so steadily did it blow that it played 
many pranks with those who encountered it. It 
passed over them as a great, slowly rolling billow, 
refreshing but not discomfiting. It played be- 
witching little pranks with some stray locks of a 
young woman’s hair, as if to tease her; now it 
blew them into her eyes, again into her mouth, 
and then back from her head. It seemed bound 
to demand her attention, which appeared to be 
rivetted on the words of her companion, a man 
of forty or thereabouts, with whom she was evi- 
dently having an after-dinner promenade. It 
would be difficult to tell whether the maiden was 
really enjoying his conversation, but she evi- 
dently was interested and appeared to listen in- 
tently to every word; every once in a while she 
gave her head a toss and compressed her lips. 
A stronger breeze raised her jaunty cap from 


Angelward 


158 

her head and blew her golf cape open; they 
stopped for a moment and she pinned the former 
more firmly and drew the latter more closely 
around her; while he pulled his cap down over 
his eyes and braced himself against the wind. 
Just then it blew out the fire in his pipe. “Jove, 
what a wind !“ 

“Delightful!’’ 

“All right for you, but I have had to light this 
pipe ten times to-night.” 

“Moral: the wind does not approve of 
smoking.” 

“Rather, that you don’t. Am I annoying 
you ?” 

“O! no; I am indifferent; I do consider it a 
foolish habit.” 

“You don’t know anythmg about it. It is one 
of man’s comforts. You will know that, when 
you get a man.” 

“No.” 

“Will you then not allow him to smoke?” 

“I shall not have one.” 

“Tut! tut!! This is only talk You do not 
really mean it. Why, life is not worth living 
if unmarried ! Now, as I was saying before this 
digression, I have a little sermon for you, and as 
this is our last evening, I shall deliver it. Will 
you listen?” 

“Why! yes; we have not had one since we 
embarked. It is great fun to be preached at; 
only not along the matrimonial line. No, don’t! 
pray don’t take that for a text! Anything else. 
I have had that dinned into me; don’t be long, 
either.” 


Angelward 


159 


“O, no ! it will be short : but it is the matri- 
monial theme. Come, now ! we know each other 
pretty well, and I feel that I must give you some 
fatherly advice. It is all very brave and progres- 
sive of you to have a profession and to desire to 
practice it ; but it will not bring you happiness.” 

‘‘Happiness is not the chief end of man, now, 
is it? You ought to know your catechism.” 

“I am afraid that I do not place much faith in 
such dogmas. I think for myself. I am out 
of the clutches of the clergy.” 

“Shocking blasphemy !” 

“Not at all; you will think the same. There 
is too much religiosity now and too little religion. 
What is religion anyway: Every man has his 
own definition. To my mind it is obedience to 
Nature and her forces; not attendance at church, 
and so forth. I seldom attend, for it sickens me ; 
but I do not consider myself a heathen. Even 
my own minister says, when he visits our home, 
as he quite frequently does, for he is a man broad 
enough to see beyond his creed, ‘I do enjoy 
coming down here and having a big swear.^ That 
may sound bad; but no, it is not. In our home 
he feels a freedom which he cannot experience 
elsewhere ; and he enjoys it.” 

“Continue ; this is fine.” 

“Yes; but I am about to change the subject. 
I shall retiirn to my theme proper. I have been 
digressing, and I see that your object is to en- 
gage me in a tirade against the church and to 
cause me to forget matrimony in the interest of 
a Scotch lassie. No, you must not attempt to 
jolly me in this way, for I have my theme too 


i6o 


Angelward 


much at heart. No, where were we? O! yes, it 
will not bring you happiness ; there will be some- 
thing lacking; you will feel that you require 
somebody with whom to share your joys and 
sorrows.” 

“I have always stood alone, and I rather en- 
joy it.” 

“That is all very well, when you are young 
and prosperous; but just wait until you are out 
in the world, all alone, battling for yourself; 
then it will be different.” 

“It is selfish to ask others to bear our bur- 
dens.” 

“Not a bit; it is only self asking for its right. 
Now, I have told you of my life; it has not been 
all sunshine ; in fact, there have been many, many 
very dark days, so dark that I sometimes could 
scarcely sec a ray of light ; and yet I can honestly 
tell you I would not give up an hour of my 
married life; the bright days, if few, have more 
than repaid in happiness the gloomy ones. No, 
man and woman should marry; there is no com- 
pletion of life without it.” 

“But what awful wrecks so many make of it !” 

“True, all too true; but they are striving for 
happiness, and all life is a struggle after it. If 
every one were to say, ! marriage is a failure, 
I shall not try it,’ what would become of evolu- 
tion? The world would cease to be. It is our 
duty; but our duty to marry wisely. My trials 
have come through illness and financial difficul- 
ties; but they have not blighted my happiness. 
It is something when failure in business comes 
to know that you have a brave little wife to stand 


Angelward 


i6i 


by you, and to comfort you, and help you to 
make sacrifices. My wife has been such a help 
to me, and I cannot tell you how I love her for 
it all. Adversity draws us nearer; we are in- 
tended for each other. Il; is better to have two 
hearts, beating in unison, than one alone. Now, 
lassie, tak ma adveece and marry the first good 
man who asks you ; do not treat him haughtily ; 
life will be a hundred times happier with him 
than without him. You ought to be married now 
and I think it is your own fault that you are 
not.” 

“That is rather hard on me.” 

“Is it not true?” 

“No, it is not; that is, if I should really be 
well married. No woman wants any Tom. Dick 
or Harry.” 

“No ! no ! ! I should not think so ; but I can- 
not see what the men have been thinking of ; tney 
must be blind.” 

“You are partial; a sea-vayoge blinds you to 
imperfections which on land others plainly see.” 

“This may not be a wise plan to form one’s 
estimate of character, but I know I am not over- 
estimating you. No, there is a wee bittie of 
blame to be laid at the lassie’s door.” 

“You are hard on me,” and Don stifled back a 
little sigh, and a faint moisture gathered in her 
eyes ; but her companion did not hear the sigh 
for the flapping of the sail, nor did he see the 
embryo tears for the twilight. 

“Not a bit hard on you , only I don’t want to 
see you make the mistake of throwing away your 
future happiness all for the mere bauble of ambi- 


Angelward 


162 

tion and the idea of a mission. Woman’s mission 
is to be a wife and mother. You are all the better 
for your education; but make a good use of it 
and aid some good man Heavenward. You will 
be a happier woman with him and your bairns 
than all alone with ambition. You may comfort 
yourself that you have a mission. All right, 
only do not let it be a mistaken one. Now, will 
you think over what I have said ?” 

“Certainly, I shall not cast aside as worthless 
such a sermon ; but ‘I hae ma doots’ as to follow- 
ing its advice.” 

“I shall hope to hear of its bearing fruit.” 
Will you let me know ?” 

“O ! yes ; but do not expect much.” 

“I shall give you time ; but it must come. You 
cannot remain as you are unless you wilfully 
disregard reason. All true preachers have to 
await results ; but they come at last.” 

“You are hard.” 

“Not a wee bittie ; but I am verra much afraid 
that a wee lassie has frYlitened the male man 
away.” 

“Poor man !” 

“No ; bu: a man does not care to be snubbed ; 
he has too much self-respect for that; if you 
are defensive he may never learn to know your 
worth and charms. You have been natural to 
me because you know me as a married man ; but 
towards an unmarried man you may assume the 
conventional manner and then not appear as your 
own true self.” 

“One is compelled to ; if not, every man 
imagines that she is running after him. I fear 


Angelward 163 

that some on board think me very unconven- 
tional. ’’ 

'‘Maybe; but don’t heed them; as long as one 
does right, she need not fear criticism, even if 
her way is not that of the world. For my part 
I cannot see why a man and a woman cannot 
be friends. I have enjoyed your company and 
feel the better for it. My wife and I have such 
perfect confidence in each other that we never 
stop to consider the impropriety of having 
friends of the opposite sexes. It is all on account 
of unfaithfulness that distrust arises; unfaithful 
«iouls alone need feel jealous.” 

“That is the way it ought to be, but it is seldom 
the case ; marriages are not all true love-bonds.” 

“No, unfortunately not; but rather, as Dr. 
Smythe says, too often cases of legal prostitution. 
It may seem a bit harsh to say so, but it is never- 
theless the case.” 

“It is the truth. No, I am satisfied as I am. 
I know my life, and if I made this change it 
would be all uncertainty. Is this not a glorious 
night? I wish that this voyage were not so 
nearly over; I have enjoyed every moment of it.” 

“It has indeed been pleasant, and I thank you 
for making it so for me.” 

“It is very good of you to say so.” 

“No, not at all ; it is the truth. I rather dread- 
ed it, for I am a home man.” 

“I was looking forward to it as a rest after 
all my hospital-walking and sight-seeing. I have 
worked hard this last six months. This whole 
trip seems like a dream ; I had no idea of it, nnti. 
I returned from the country and was just on the 


Angelward 


164 

eve of hanging out my shingle, when my uncle 
said: ‘Wait a little while; I want you to go to 
London.’ I stared at him as if he had said to 
Timbuctoo. ‘I mean it; it will do you good. I 
have been observing your course and I am satis- 
fied with you. Start off as soon as you like. 
1 lie funds are ready.’ I was dumbfounded, for 
I had always thought that he did not approve 
of my course. It was so good of him.” 

“He sees that there is something in you. Have 
you decided on a location?” 

“Yes, Tecumseh, a small city, where there has 
never been a woman physician. I wish to make 
my own path. There will be prejudice to fight; 
but I want to be the first one to fight it, and not 
to be compelled to walk after some one who may 
have been a failure. I expect to have a fight.” 

“And if I mistake not, will make a good fight; 
you have it in you.” 

“I hope so. I intended, when I graduated, to 
practice at home ; but I have changed my mind ; 
one does better among strangers. I am going off 
alone to fight my own way.” 

“Bravely said, but do not be too brave. If that 
good man runs across your path, do not fight too 
long alone; but, well, I have sermonised enough 
and too much. You are not annoyed at the 
blethering auld Scoty, are you ?” 

“O ! no ; you have only stated your views, and 
I am free to accept or disregard them; that is 
all.” 

“Most women would view such as an inter- 
ference ; but you are different.” 

“The effects of my education. Woman looks 


Angel WARD 165 

with a broader vision when her eyes have been 
opened.” 

“Yes; what say you to a turn to the bow.” 

“I should like it of all things; I do like to sit 
there and see and feel the vessel plunge. I just 
love the water;” and Donalda Fenwick stood be- 
side her companion and gazed out over the miles 
and miles of gently heaving Atlantic. “Do you 
not experience a strange sensation away out here, 
away from everybody? One seems to be just a 
tiny speck floating all alone away from any other 
world and perfectly regardless of what others 
are doing. What do we know of what is going 
on? Nothing. The world's past is only a mem- 
ory, its present is not ours and the future is away 
off; and yet to-morrow we shall be of the world 
again and this experience will be as a dream. 
Life seems to be a succession of dreams. This 
is a strange feeling, this being away from one’s 
kith and kin. I wonder if those sailing in the 
Heavenly ether are as unconscious of us as we 
of our friends. Do you know anything about 
wireless telegraphy or mental telepathy?” 

“No, I have not dabbled in the occult ; it savors 
of the uncanny, and I think that there is plenty 
of practical work to be done here below without 
us soaring into the spirit realms, though, mind 
you, I do not deny that there may be truth in it ; 
but I do not feel drawn to it. I dinna ken ony- 
thing about it, ava.” 


i66 


Angelward 


CHAPTER XXIL 

The sign of Dr. Donalda Fenwick creaked and 
groaned and nearly turned somersaults in the 
fierce wind which howled around the street and 
house corners and shrieked down the chimneys 
and whistled through the keyholes. It was an 
angry wind ; it appeared to have gone mad ; when 
a lull occurred it moaned as if not satisfied with 
the fury it had just expended; it was a night 
when one might imagine banshees abroad ; it was 
a night when sad, disheartened spirits might roam 
the earth. This awful wind seemed pregnant with 
evil, and those who were so fortunate as to be 
within doors, shuddered and said, '‘What a night ! 
We shall hear news of this.” The sign, as before, 
creaked and groaned as if in agony; inside her 
office the physician lay on a couch and pretended 
to read ; it was only a pretense, for on a night like 
this she always fell into a romantic and fanciful 
mood; then she appeared to allow her subjective 
mind full play, and she wove weird fancies; she 
had not yet given up her childish taste for stories. 
Often the thought came to her, “literature is your 
field”; but then again she would cast it aside. 
“No, I cannot write to suit the public; my 
thoughts are not their thoughts. I would shock 
them with truth, and I cannot write any thing 
but the^ truth. How the wind blows! I rather 





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ON LAKE SHORE. 

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Angelvvard 


167 

like it, though; it is weird and suits my mood 
to-night. No one will be in and I enjoy the hour. 
That sign creaks and groans as if its burden of 
carrying my name in this gale were too much 
to ask of it. You shall have to creak and groan 
for many a night before I am through with you. 
Dear me, how the times flies ! Here have I been 
six months ! I cannot realize it. Patience is a 
virtue, I suppose, but it is slow work. It is a 
dreary life. This place is an intellectual Sahara; 
the women have not a thought above afternoon 
teas and gossip, and the men are impossible. O ! 
for the old college days. I sometimes feel as if 
I cannot endure it; but I must. If I had only 
one congenial spirit, but there is not one so far. 
There’s the bell! Ye gods! have I got to go out 
to-night, and to Land’s End, too?” She opened 
the door and with a fierce gust of wind admitted 
a young woman of about twenty years of age, 
rather sliort and stout, who walked with rather a 
hesitating step, and sat on the edge of a chair. 
She looked wonderingly around the office, and 
working nervously with her handkerchief, said in 
a shrill, would-be-bold voice, but one which be- 
trayed her emotion: “You do most anything, 
don’t you. Miss? I have come on some particular 
business.” She looked intently at the Doctor, who 
had already made her diagnosis, for even in the 
short time she had been practising she had 
learned to know what such statements meant ; she 
merely replied, “It depends altogether on what 
‘most anything’ refers to. I am not a carpenter 
or tailor. ” The girl looked at her in a half- 
puzzled manner, as if not knowing just how to 


i68 


Angelward 


take her remark. ''No, I suppose not. Well, I 
have some very personal business with you. You 
will not mention it?” 

"Certainly not,” and Don felt indignant. "A 
patient’s secrets are always sacred in my mind.” 

"Some tell them. Well,” and she hesitated for 
a few moments ; then, as if finding courage : "I 
know I have done wrong, but I thought you 
might help me I am young,” and a tear stole 
down her cheek, "and it will make such a fuss, 
and I can’t get married.” 

"I am sorry that your request is such that I 
cannot grant it ; I have only one answer, and that 
is no. You have erred and I am sorry for you ; 
but all you can now do is to bear the result of 
your error and refrain from again committing it.” 

"Won’t you help me?” and she looked plead- 
ingly at Don. "You are hard-hearted. I thought 
that a woman would help a woman.” 

"I am not unkind. I wish to prevent you from 
committing murder and myself from being your 
accomplice.” 

"It isn’t murder.” 

"Yes, it is. Murder is the attacking of life 
with the intent to kill ; this would be nothing else 
but murder. No, I cannot; but, come, think it 
over, and you will realize the truth of what I 
say.” 

"I know I have done wrong, but I must get 
help. I will pay you well for it.” 

"Money will not tempt me. Do you want to 
make a Judas of me? Judas botrayed Christ, 
the Son of God, for silver, and you wish to make 
me betray your child, the son of God, for money.” 


Angelward 


169 


‘‘Son of Qod?’^ 

“Every child is/' 

“Son of the Devil!” 

“Because you have erred. and have given it a 
better claim on the latter fatherhood you may 
think so, but it is nevertheless the son of God. 
God is the Creator and not the Devil; he is only 
a perverter. Why did you not think before you 
erred ?” 

“O! I don’t know. It’s easy to go bad; but 
won’t you?” 

“Can you still ask me when I tell you of the 
enormity of the crime?” 

“You help the rich.” 

“No.” 

“All doctors do.” 

“No.” 

“I can get plenty in this place.” 

“I do not think so. I should very much dislike 
to mention the name of one who would stoop so 
low. Why did you not go to them?” 

“I thought you would.” 

“The same old story, people cannot regard a 
woman as a regularly qualified, honest physician, 
but must consider her as some quack who sells 
her honor for a few dirty dollars. Take my ad- 
vice and bear the result of your error.” 

“No, never!” and the girl indignantly rose 
from her seat. “You are hard ! hard ! ! I’ll shoot 
myself !” 

“That will not save you; how can you face 
your God?” 

“I’m going to the Devil, anyhow.” 


170 


Angelward 


‘‘Not unless you allow yourself to go. We all 
have the power to prevent such.” 

“It is born in us.” 

“True, but we must fight against it.” 

“I don’t see what we were made for. I wish 
that I had never been born.” 

“Do not talk in that way. You are worried to- 
night. Think it over and do right. I feel sorry 
for you, but I cannot accede to your request.” 

“I don’t want your pity if you will not help 
me. Well, I suppose it’s no use,” and the girl 
hurriedly left the office. 

“Another of those cases,” and Don peered out 
of the window into the dark, gloomy, windy 
night. “There is no end to them; and there he 
is,” as she saw the form of a man stealth- 
ily step up to the girl’s side, and then they passed 
away into the deeper darkness of the street. “A 
fit night for such confidences,” and, turning from 
the window, the Doctor threw herself on a couch. 
“Horrors! what is the world coming to? It 
sickens, disgusts and horrifies one. Talk of 
criminal classes ! It appears to me that the whole 
world is one. Who would think it possible that 
that young thing is a would-be murderer? She 
is, and to be the mother of another, for like 
breeds like. Now, by her very thought that un- 
born babe is being branded a murderer. What 
horrors they think secrecy will hide, but Nature 
prevents that ! She will out with the truth every 
time Education alone will correct this evil; but, 
O Lord! how long? It is frightful to think of 
the agony that this world’s suffers. We shudder 
at a Vesuvius eruption and a San Francisco earth- 


Angelward 


171 

quake, but we sit and calmly gaze on the quiet, 
eddying maelstrom of evil which engulfs us all 
in time. People are enslaven in sexuality, born 
in slavery, wed in slavery, dead in slavery. They 
do not recognize Natural Law. Instinct were 
better than Reason such as civilized man now 
prides himself upon; but the falling masses are 
slowly rising on the dead bones of those who have 
gone before. All life is the deep ditch of Water- 
loo. From the Hell of ignorance to the Heaven 
of knowledge is one vast climbing, rugged path, 
along which many corpses lie. Has then life been 
in vain? Had they better never been born ? No, 
there is a purpose in it all. 1 hey are factors in the 
Great Result. This girl does not feel sorrow for 
her sin — she hates its result, which will notify the 
public of her error. Kill it and it shall not be 
made public. It is false sorrow ; selfish sorrow ; 
the world is selfish ; but one should not blame this 
girl too harshly, for is she not the victim of pre- 
natal influences? O! it is awful the depths to 
which the Human family will sink. The great 
crime of the day is ignorance of Natural Law. 
Ignorance is criminal. O! it makes me shud- 
der,’’ and Dr. Fenwick clasped her hands until 
she almost drove the blood out of them and 
groaned from the very depths of her soul. “One 
is so powerless to lessen this evil. She cannot 
attack it, it is so interwoven with all of our do- 
mestic ties. Little did I think when I graduated 
of the problems awaiting me ! Then the glamor 
of curing disease was all that I thought of; bril- 
liant operations, brilliant drug effects and not the 
regeneration of man’s moral nature. If science 


172 


Angelward 


were only preached from our pulpits. Our pres- 
ent religion is as much based upon mythobgy 
as that of any so-called pagan. Years from now 
we shall be designated as heathens by our en- 
lightened successors.” So, on, in this strain Dr. 
Fenwick reasoned on this cold, dark, sad night. 
She was intense; every fibre of her being cried 
out against the ignorance which fetters mankind ; 
then suddenly arising she walked over to the sec- 
retary and sitting down resolutely took up a pen. 
“I will write my thoughts. I must. It does one 
good to spout.” 


Angelward 


173 


I 


CHAUTER XXIII. 

‘‘How are you, Dr. Fenwick?” 

“Very well, thank you. Dr. Pearson.” 

“That is well. I thought that it was about 
time I was paying you a pastoral visit; but, by- 
the-bye, I have not seen you at church lately.” 

“No, I have been attending St. Andrews. Do 
you not remember that I told you that Knox is too 
far?” 

“Yes, but I thought all the same that you 
would remain with us. We want you, a good 
daughter of a good Presbyterian minister; they 
can get along without you.” 

“Yes, I suppose; but I have decided to attend 
there.” 

“I am sorry to hear it; you would have met 
better people with us, the flower of Tecumseh.” 

“Yes,” and a better preacher, thought Don 
to herself; “but I don’t think that one need make 
her church a stepping-stone to success. I prefer 
to have my religion free from such motives.” 

“True; but when you can it is just as well to 
let one aid the other. Are you very lonely here ?” 

“Not at all. I don’t object to being alone.” 

“You must be brave. What are you reading? 
Haeckel ! Why, he is heterodox !” and he looked 
pettishly disgusted. “I did not expect to see the 
daughter of your father reading that,” and he 


174 


Angelward 


tossed the volume down. “This will never do; 
you are leaving the faith of your fathers.’' 

“But they did the same.” 

“Why, no; they fought to retain it!” 

“No, but farther back.” 

“O! well, there always has to be a beginning; 
but you are slipping away too far; you are on 
dangerous ground. Put away such books, now 
will you not? This is the mischief of medicine; 
it creates infidels. I did hope that the women 
would remain faithful to the old truth.” 

“Not unfaithful to new truth. We must make 
progress. We climb by doubts.” 

“No need of doubts if you have faith in Christ. 
If your faith is founded on a rock it cannot fail 
you.” 

“But then it must be a dead faith, as dead as 
the rock itself. I must have a living, growing 
faith, one which continues to develop and unfold 
itself. I know, that you will consider me hetero- 
dox.” 

“O ! no, only a little misled ; but take my advice 
and leave science alone in connection with re- 
ligion.” 

“I cannot promise that; true religion is only 
obedience to scientific knowledge.” 

“You do not for one moment wish me to believe 
that I am descended from a monkey ? Ugh ! you 
cannot prove that from the Bible. It is a slur on 
the Creator, a down-right libel. Faugh! I could 
not admit such a thing; it belittles God and man.” 

“No, there can be no disgrace in having ascend- 
ed from a monkey. Yes, I believe it. Instead of 


Angelward 


175 

belittling the Creator it shows his miraculous 
plan. Life must be upward.” 

“Sorry I cannot agree with you.” 

“We must acknowledge a beginning and evolu- 
tion explains this.” 

“You canot go back to the very first ; you can- 
not say who created God, now can you ?” and Dr. 
Pearson looked down delightedly at Don, whom 
he considered to be floored by this argument. 

“The human mind cannot comprehend that; 
infinity is too wonderful; but truths which the 
orthodox churches deny can be understood by 
those who will.” 

“Tut! tut!! you are infatuated with science. 
This is the result of educating women.” 

“Men think so.” 

“Well, yes; those of them who are weak. I 
don’t like to hear you talking in this way. What 
do you believe? I suppose that you deny the 
story of Adam and Eve.” 

“Literally but not figuratively; it is Hebraic 
allegory. Evolution easily explains it.” 

“How ? I am curious to hear how far you have 
been led astray.” 

“You will not understand me.” 

“Go on.” 

“The first man and woman were mere removes 
above the brutes; they possessed a little more 
reason, but by trusting to this alone and by cast- 
ing instinct aside, they fell. The woman, through 
her inquisitive and acquisitive nature, fell first. 
As a baby in his first attempts to walk stumbles, 
so does man in his upward climb. What was a 
happy Eden to the first man would not now sat- 
isfy us. It was an Eden because he obeyed Na- 


176 


Angelward 


ture in his purely animal nature; but as soon as 
the spiritual in him clambered for sway, it no 
longer satisfied him. God did not drive him out ; 
he voluntarily walked or rather stumbled out into 
the wilderness of new thoughts.” 

‘'Do you believe in a future world ?” 

“Not in your sense of one. I believe in Im- 
mortality of Influence; of purpose but not of 
human beings.” 

“I suppose that you deny Providence and 
Christ and his miracles then ?” 

“Not when Providence is interpreted as Nat- 
ural Law. When we are saved from an accident 
it is in obedience to Natural Law ; when we fall a 
victim it is in disobedience to it. There is no 
Personal Providence in the shape of a Personal 
Spirit who controls all our acts.” 

“Awful! Child! what are you thinking of? 
You require conversion and you will not receive 
it at St. Andrews. I thought once in grace al- 
ways in for a Presbyterian ; but, but ” 

“Ah! well, you will come all right. Come up 
on Sabbath and hear a good sermon. You have 
given me matter for one. I did not think that 
our young people had gone so far astray. I shall 
give you good old-fashioned gospel. You have 
not dabbled in Spiritualism, have you?” 

“Not as yet I have not seen sufficient of it. 
We must understand ere we accept.” 

“Ah! there is hope for you,” and taking her 
hand he said tenderly: “Good-bye; keep your 
good Presbyterian heart.” 


Angelward 


177 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

The pretty rooms of Mrs. Lawrence’s home 
were tastefully decorated with cut flowers and 
palms, and illuminated by delicately shaded elec- 
tric lights ; prettily gowned women thronged 
them, with here and there a man whom leisure 
permitted to spend the last hours of the day in 
the company of these fair women; those who 
were compelled to work would arrive in the early 
evening after business hours. This was one of 
the many crushes for which Mrs. Lawrence, the 
society leader of Tecumseh, was famous. Pos- 
sessing the happy faculty of knowing just how 
to entertain, she always gave pleasure to her 
guests and to herself, a result not by any means 
always attainable. Not being exclusive she sought 
out congenial people, and many a stranger coming 
to the city was seized upon by her and at once 
made to feel at home; it made no difference 
whether it were man or woman, the latter re- 
ceived the same amount of attention as the 
former, who too often is utterly spoiled by the 
amount of lionizing which he receives, especially 
if he be a single man. Without being what one 
would call an intellectual woman, she, however, 
possessed the faculty of recognizing ability in 
others and always made such welcome to her 
home. She had called on Dr. Fenwick very shortly 


Angelward 


178 

after her arrival and had already sho^vn her many 
of those little, delicate courtesies which mean so 
much to recipient and giver. This evening Don 
had not arrived until late, like the other workers, 
and intended leaving early. As she stood talking 
to her hostess, an elderly lady rose from her 
chair at the opposite side of the room, and walk- 
ing over to where they stood, said : “Clara, is this 
the lady Doctor? Do introduce me.” 

‘T was just about to take Dr. Fenwick to you, 
Mrs. Allen. Will you chaperon her and introduce 
her? The men are coming now and they require 
so much attention, the poor dear things, and Mr. 
Lawrence is so hopelessly in the clutches of 
Grandma Davis he will not be of any assistance 
to me. The dear old thing only promised to come 
on the condition that he would pay all his atten- 
tion to her. Is it not wonderful how well she is? 
Now do be good to Dr. Fenwick.” 

“With pleasure; but I really expected to meet 
an elderly person and not a young girl like this,” 
and she looked at Don as one would at a small 
child. “Why, my dear, you are a mere child !” 

Don detested this reference to her age, but she 
merely replied: “I am older than I look, quite 
ancient, in fact.” 

“O, dear, no ! It will be years before you are 
that. It does seem strange for a young girl like 
you being a doctoress. Will you come and sit by 
me? I cannot stand for very long; too old and 
stout. Have you met Mr. Risdon? One of Mrs. 
Lawrence’s pets. Our old bachelor. Entertain- 
ing ; you will like him. He always takes up with 


Angelward 


179 

new fads, and I am sure that he will be interested 
in you.” 

“No, I have not met Mr. Risdon. We have ap- 
peared to fight shy of each other. Ugh !” thought 
Don, “I am interesting to a withered old man of 
the world as a new fad!” 

“Miss Doctor Fenwick, Mr. Risdon. Is that 
correct? I never know how to address a lady 
doctor.” 

“That is immaterial.” 

“Not by any means. Dr. Fenwick. If I were 
you I should go for them hammer and tongs. I 
should be awfully annoyed if I did not receive my 
proper title.” 

“Why, no ! What does it signify? Profession- 
ally I do prefer it, but socially I never think of it.” 

“You are magnanimous.” 

“O, no!” 

“I see that Mrs. Allen has left us to gossip. 
Well, now, do you care for these functions?” 

“I do for those Mrs. Lawrence gives. It all 
depends upon the hostess.” 

“Yes, quite; but they are boring after all, and 
yet one can put in some idle hours which other- 
wise would cause me much annoyance. Do you 
not find the time very long? I do. I arn always 
on the outlook for some novelty. Life is blase, 
here especially.” 

“The world is large, could you not find a more 
congenial location?” 

“Perhaps, but after all it is much the same; 
there is always one’s little world, our environ- 
ment never seems to enlarge.” 


i8o 


Angelward 


“Yes, but there is much more to see in a larger 
place.’' 

“True, but one settles down to see but little 
after all. No, I suppose I am as comfortable 
here as elsewhere. How came you to settle here ? 
if I may be so rude as to ask. It is a prerogative 
of old cizitens to ask questions of new- 
comers. I suppose you have already been bored 
by the usual number.” 

“Yes; well, for several reasons.” 

“It must be terribly slow starting, and lonely, 
also !” 

“Mrs. Lawrence has not allowed me to suffer, 
and moreover I think that if a person has any 
resources within herself she need not suffer. I 
generally find myself good company, though it 
sounds rather egotistical to say so.” 

“Not at all. Of course you are good company 
for yourself and for others, too.” 

“I mean that any one may be.” 

“Yes, I understand ; but all are not congenial 
to themselves ; but you could not but be good com- 
pany ; but do you really like Madame ?” 

“Of course I do; I should not accept Mrs. 
Lawrence’s invitations if I did not.” 

“You do not mean to say that you are so con- 
scientious as that? Do you not rather welcome 
them as a means of introduction ?” 

“How dare you?” and Don flashed an indig- 
nant glance at Mr. Risdon, whom she regarded 
as a boor. “The impudence of him; he does not 
carry out his so-called role of gentleman.” 

“Pardon me. Doctor; I did not mean that; 
but most strangers do.” 


Angelward 


i8i 


“And you judge one by all; before you know 
her. I do not think that we are sufficiently well 
acquainted for you to criticise my motives” 

“No, certainly not; but every one humors me; 
however, we shall change the subject. Do you 
really care for medicine?” 

“Certainly; if not I should give it up.” 

“But no one ever has sufficient courage to do 
that.” 

“I have.” 

“I believe you. By Jove! Mettle here. I 
like it, though. Who would think it? Pink and 
white, too. You are brave. Did not the dis- 
secting room offend you ? Ugh ! I could not en- 
dure it.” 

“The place of most interest.” 

“Really! you do amuse me. My Governor 
wanted me to study, but I preferred to take a 
quiet place in the world ; the role of country 
gentleman suits me.” 

“I love the country; I spent my childhood 
there.” 

“Why not live there now?” 

“Business prevents.” 

“O ! never mind that. Come and join me !” 

Don started, and then looking amusedly at 
him, said : “Do you really mean it ?” 

“Why yes ; I always mean what I say.” 

“I hae ma doots.” 

“No, really; I do mean it.” 

“Thank you, no, then.” 

“Refused again. Every time I have had the 
courage to ask a woman, she has refused me 
point blank. What is a fellow to do?” 


i 82 


Angelward 


‘That is sad. You certainly must always ask 
the wrong one.’’ 

“How is a man to know?” 

“I have a friend who says woman always pro- 
poses.” 

“Certainly; you proposed to me and then re- 
jected me. The ways of women are past finding 
out. Well, a crusty old bachelor is not fit com- 
pany for a young girl, and women are required 
in medicine. If 1 were a woman I should call one 
in. Ugh ! fancy having some of these men clowns 
when one could have a gentle-handed, silver- 
voiced, ministering angel! What has the world 
been thinking of so long?” 

“You are sarcastic.” 

O! no; pray do not take offence; to reject a 
man is surely sufficient revenge for one evening; 
but, Miss Doctor, look here I in all truth I say let 
the old maids have medicine ; it is not for young 
girls.” 

“Why so?” 

“They cannot be spoiled. It is a pity to spend 
your years toiling. I think pretty young girls 
ought to be like pretty flowers, for pleasure and 
admiration ; they ought to have lovely surround- 
ings ; the day of toil will come soon enough.” 

“I don’t agree with you.” 

“No, I suppose not.” 

“They would be useless appendages.” 

“That is all we should expect of them. ’Fess 
right up. Is not medicine a dreadful life?” 

“No.” 

“Do you not detest half the people you meet?” 
“No.” 


Angelward 


183 

‘^You are great-hearted. I never was a philan- 
thropist. Madame occasionally drags me into one 
of her numerous schemes.” 

“No more am I, but it does one good to go 
right out into the world and take a hold in the 
tug of war.” 

“But for one so young it is too much.” 

“If I waited until I were old I should be then 
useless ; one must be brought right up in the fray 
and she then knows the trend of civilization. 
When old she cannot adapt herself.” 

“But when young may she not be too adapt- 
able? I should very much dislike to think of you 
adapting yourself to some people and their 
needs.” 

“Rather to their needs than to themselves, to 
their striving, struggling souls. I should not 
necessarily lose my individuality.” 

“I see that you are not to be frightened by a 
pessimistic old bachelor. I cannot urge you to 
commit matrimony, for I do not think much of it 
myself. I suppose you, too, have had it dinned 
into your ears until you are sick and tired of it. 
I can see no happiness in it. Misery loves com- 
pany and the poor fools who have been entrapped 
are only too anxious to have company. It is all 
sacrifice one one side or the other; generally on 
the woman's.” 

“Yours is an extreme view. You also would 
have your share.” 

“Yes; but if I preferred not to do it? There 
is always a lot of squaw patience about it. Man 
is a selfish brute; he will have his slaves, then 
better hire them. No, the whole world is wrong 


1 84 


Angelward 


and there is no use attempting to right it ; but to 
put an end to our worries, shall we partake of 
some refreshments?” 

“Thank you,” and Don passed to the refresh- 
ment-room with Mr. Risdon. 

“Ralph is fortunate this evening. What a pity 
that he does not marry! I introduced them on 
purpose.” 

“A hopeless case, Mrs. Allen.” 

“Never say die, Mrs. Brown. It is disgusting 
for a rich man to remain single.” 

“Always match-making.” 

“No, but one has her duty; and it is one of 
mine. I have brought a number together. It 
is all nonsense for a young girl like that to be 
toiling, when she ought to have a home of her 
own. I wonder what her parents are thinking 
of.” 

“Parents do not always have the say; now 
May will not marry, do what I may to urge her ; 
duty to her parents, her father’s age and the 
necessity of getting a home for herself ; it is the 
same answer, ‘No I will not marry for a home.’ 
I am almost heartbroken, for she is getting on.” 

“I should force her. We obeyed our parents 
when we were young.” 

“Yes, but still you pleased yourself,” and Mrs. 
Brown smiled knowingly at Mrs. Allen. 

“Well, yes ; but I married before I was twenty, 
and it is one and the same thing whether they 
do the choosing or you so long as it is done by 
some one. Now all they think about is having 
a good time, or else they have missions. Wo- 
man’s mission is to marry and have children; 


Angelward 185 

but even if they marry they will not have chil- 
dren. Do you not think so, Dr. Burton?’’ 

“What was that statement, Mrs. Allen? I did 
not hear it; but as usual it is correct, I have no 
doubt.” 

“Thank you. Dr. Burton. I merely said that 
it is woman’s duty to marry.” 

“Quite true. It is indeed sad the way in which 
they are taking the bread out of the young men’s 
mouths.” 

“Poor things! let them till the soil and hew 
down the forests.” 

“Now, Nancy! we all know your views; but 
you ought to be married.” 

“Me married! Am I not tied hand and foot 
as it is? What! bind me more? I do declare, 
some people are never satisfied. Get married! 
No, not I ! When I get rid of the Old Parties I 
am going out into the world.” 

“Shame, Nancy!” 

“No, it is no fun being tied up with two 
snarling old aunts, who ought to be respectable 
and depart, or at least have a paid nurse and 
allow me to go free. They hate me and I hate 
them; but all because we are related, the same 
blood in our veins, we must live together and 
continue to hate one another. Blood ties ! Blood 
is thicker than water! Too thick to flow freely, 
congealed by hate, frozen stiff, maybe !” 

“Nan Webster, you are incorrigible; you do 
not mean one word of this. What could you 
do?” 

“Scrub out tenements, join the Salvation Army, 
anything.” 


Angelward 


^i86 

“There it is, the cry of the age ! Yes, anything 
but home ties.’' 

‘T hate ties. Yes, marry some old stick like 
Ralph Risdon, because he is a man and rich; 
cater to him and his brats! No, thank you, I 
shall marry for love; but where can you find it?” 

“Ralph is not the only man.” 

“No; but a fair sample of the average affair 
in trowsers. No, thank you I” 

“Nancy, dreadful!” 

“Can’t help it;” and the tall, handsome bru- 
nette glided off to talk to Don. 

“Nancy is dreadful; she talks shockingly.” 

“Yes, indeed Mrs. Allen; I sometimes fear a 
little wrong,” and Dr. Burton pointed to his 
head. “It is a hard life for the girl; but it 
might be worse. There’s my lady confrere with 
Ralph ! He might take a fancy to her. I 
must try my best. He ought to be .married.” 

“That is what I say ; we may accomplish it” 


Angelward 


187 


CHAPTER XXV. 

“Hello, Dr. Fenwick! I have run in for a 
chat. Are you busy? I need not ask, for you 
are so industrious.” 

“Not too busy to enjoy your company. Miss 
Webster.” 

“That is awfully good of you; you are a 
darling. It is such a comfort to meet some one 
with brains; they have been left out of the an- 
atomy of the girls here. This is the deadest, 
most brainless place on the face of the globe. 
You must find it so. I am just dying to leave 
it. I feel wicked just half the time.” 

“We all have hard duties; you may be all the 
better for yours some day. We all climb up 
higher by them.” 

“I slip then, for I never willingly do my duty. 
It is precious hard, when you are snarled at 
from dawn till dark and from candle-light till 
sunrise.” 

“I do sympathise with you.” 

“I knew that you would. Most people think 
that I grumble from sheer ugliness. Well, I 
came in to talk to you and to forget the Old 
Parties. How cosy you are! I should so love 
to live alone. You are never lonely?” 

“No.” 

“Of course not. I wish I could go out into 


Angelward 


i88 

the world and fight; I should have been a man.’’ 

^‘Do you not think that a woman can have 
action ?” 

“She ought to, but she is so tied. She must 
be passive and sit demurely at home until a man 
comes and offers himself.” 

“That day is passing; may she not be as 
brave in her passivity as man in his aggressive- 
ness?” 

“A patient, all-enduring slave.” 

“No, not that; that is an extreme view and 
one that naturally presents itself. Man and wo- 
man are complements, the one made for the 
other; he aggressive, she passive, but both of 
equal value.” 

“All true in theory ; but man is a domineering 
brute. I hate them!” 

“No, only a bit mistaken ; man and woman are 
only evolving; it is a case of steady development, 
sometimes more in one sex than in the other; 
but on the whole slow and sure for both. We 
must not expect perfection, but we too often 
look for it. Primitive woman’s aggressive posi- 
tion, in which she maintained the family while 
her husband followed his own devices, devel- 
oped altruism in her and selfishness in him, both 
necessary factors at that time; Nature has now 
turned the tables to a certain extent and man has 
been compelled to develop altruism and to pro- 
vide for his family; this has made woman de- 
pendent upon him, passive, her true nature, and 
thus a condition is formed in which their natures 
blend. Readjustments are necessary and even 
woman is perhaps assuming a little more of the 


Angelward 


189 

aggressive spirit simply to prevent man from 
possessing it to a baneful extent; it is only the 
equalization of Nature. It will not always be 
woman’s mission to venture out into the pro- 
iessional and business life of the world; her 
kingdom is the home ; but at the present her puri- 
fying, softening presence is needed. Why are 
women required in medicine? Simply because 
all men are not fit to attend them. If all were 
pure it would be otherwise; but women patients 
are not all that they should be. It is necessary 
for women to enter upon business life so that 
woman may learn how to attend to domestic 
economics. After woman has made this sacri- 
fice, the sexes will the better understand each 
other and will tread the rough path of life, hand 
in hand, making rough places smooth by their 
mutual love ; they will then understand each 
other’s motives. Woman’s mission is a grand 
and noble one; she moulds the world, she forms 
man. 

'' ‘Let the whole field of reality be laid open 
to woman as well as to man, and then that which 
is peculiar in her mental modification instead of 
being, as it is now, a source of discord and re- 
pulsion between the sexes, will be found to be 
a necessary complement to the truth and beauty 
of life; then shall we have that marriage of 
minds which alone can blend all the hues of 
thought and feeling in one lovely rainbow of 
promise for the harvest of happiness.’ These 
are the words of George Eliot, one of our grand- 
est women.” 


190 


Angelward 


‘‘George Eliot! Why!’' and Nancy looked 
aghast. 

“Yes, she was human but grand. She recog- 
nized the need of law ; nothing results without a 
cause. Have you studied evolution?” 

“Monkey business and all that? No.” 

“Do ; it will help you to understand the world 
as it is ; you will then see cause and effect.” 

“It will make me more discontened ; I shall see 
larger fields afar off, but which are barbed- 
wired around, six feet high.” 


Angelward 


I9I 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

'T suppose that I had better run into the Post 
Office, although I do not expect that there will 
be anything for me. O, here is a letter! From 
whom, I wonder,” and Dr. Fenwick withdrew it 
from her box and glanced at the office marks on 
it. “From Erie! I know no one there. Some 
business affair, fit rubbish for the fire.” Still 
she could not reconcile it to this category, and all 
the way home kept wondering, who had written 
it. Some letters we at once decide are business, 
others have a different effect on us. Is there 
any magnetism about them ? Can our minds 
really read these missives before our eyes have 
beheld their contents? Does the mind of the 
sender influence that of the receiver? Is there 
a communication between mind and mind until 
the letter is received? In these days of spiritu- 
alism and psychological phenomena one cannot 
banish such thoughts. Do magnetic forces from 
the mind and hand of the sender so permeate 
the letter that the hand and mind of the receiver 
receives the message before the envelope is 
opened? Don had a queer feeling about this 
letter, and as soon as she entered her office she 
snatched a hair pin from her hair and opened 
it. It ran as follows 


192 


Angelward 


Erie, Jan. loth, 1901. 

Dear Doctor : — 

I have just finished reading a very able article 

in the , written by yourself. I am very 

much interested in the same subject; in fact, so 
much so that a few years ago I published a 
small book on the subject. I wrote in few and 
plain words so that the lesser educated classes 
could understand its contents. The sale has 
been very disappointing. The subject is unpop- 
ular. Have you read it? If not I shall indeed 
be pleased to send you a copy and I shall deem 
it a great favor if you will give me your candid 
opinion. One feels so helpless to eradicate such 
evils. You have been very brave to write as 
you have, for you will be severely criticised. 
From my inmost soul I am glad you have done 
so. I rejoice that I have met a physician who 
thinks as I do. One loses faith in humanity 
when he comes in contact with it as we do ; the 
world is so selfish and people exist on such a 
worldly plane. The spiritual is too far beyond 
them. I often feel like tearing myself away 
from them. 

Congratulating you on your splendidly brave 
article, believe me. 

Yours sincerely, 

E. Hartz. 

‘‘Very kind of a brother physician. I am glad 
there is at least one who agrees with me, but 
there are more. This subject is forcing itself 
on the attention of the public, novelists are at- 
tacking it; they, too, recognize the need of re- 


Angelward 


i93 

form. No one is ever so very far in advance 
of his age; the masses are always coming on 
fast in the rear. Well, I shall allow him to send 
his book— only an act of courtesy. I shall write, 
thanking him.’^ 


Tecumseh, Jan. nth, 1901. 

Dear Doctor : — 

Thank you very much for your kind, appre- 
ciative letter I shall be very much pleased to 
read your book, and I shall endeavor to give 
you a candid criticism. I am considered very 
critical, but I shall endeavor to be candid and 
impartial. I am indeed glad that I, too, have 
found one who thinks as I do ; but I fancy there 
are many more than one. 

Yes, this world is selfish and its worldliness 
does dishearten one; but I do not believe in be- 
ing pessimistic. The human race is only evolv- 
ing; one should not expect wonders of it. An 
optimistic view helps one to fight the battles of 
life. I find rose-colored spectacles necessary at 
times, replacing them only at times with clear 
crystal when one wishes to penetrate some mys- 
tery which cannot be clearly seen through by 
the former. The dark goggles I don only when 
forced to shut out some awful unavoidable evil 
from my sight, that which I am powerless to 
avert and do not wish to see in all its enormity 
as I should through my clear crystals, nor to 
behold in a pleasing light as through the rose- 
colored. A man may easily go armed with 
three pairs of pince nez, but to a woman in her 
pocketless condition three pairs are two too many 


194 


Angelward 


and so she generally wears the first and looks on 
life as a pleasing panorama with herself as a 
small, inconsequential object in the living pic- 
ture. Only once in a while does she arise and 
claim a pocket and wear her three pairs. 

I do not know that I can allow myself to 
consider my writing as a brave act, for I did 
not take that into consideration when I wrote. 
I wrote simply because I had to. Call it in- 
spiration or what you will. It rid my mind, 
anyway, of some intense, harrowing thoughts. 
It does one good to spout occasionally, a sort 
of safety-valve action. 

I have found the people extremely kind, but 
they are not at all intellectually inclined, and one 
feels lonely at times. They often say, “Are you 
not lonely?” I cannot say for your company, 
for oftentimes the all-aloneness I feel could not 
be relieved by the be-withedness of them. One 
may be most lonely in a crowd; still it does one 
good at times, it gives her time to think. As 
long as one makes such a state her servant, and 
does not allow it to become her master, she may 
derive untold benefit from it. All true souls are 
'lone souls at times. One cannot very well tear 
herself away from this earth, her work is here; 
but she may at times feel inclined to put on 
wings and seek a more congenial clime. I do 
not think that one should lose faith in mankind. 
To those who see farther ahead the ignorance 
of the masses is indeed appalling; but, when we 
contrast their present state with what they have 
emerged from, should we not keep up heart? 
Disgust is good at times, it urges us on; on the 


Angelward 


195 


whole the trend is “angelward.” I cannot be- 
lieve in a backward course. By a constant with- 
drawal one may become so hypersensitive and 
useless as to be fastidious other-world-slaves 
instead of this- world-helps. This is our battle- 
field at present and the laurels are for the true 
and brave. 

I shall look forward with pleasure to reading 
and criticising your book. Believe me, 

Yours sincerely, 

Donalda Fenwick. 


196 


Angelward 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

‘‘Ah! Dr. Fenwick, may I waste some of yonr 
very precious time! I am tired of wasting my 
own.’' 

'T do not know, Mr. Risdon, that I shall con- 
sider it wasted. What an unhappy state you 
must be in! I wonder if I have a pill for such 
an ill.” 

“I am afraid that I am chronically affected. 
I must have been born lazy. What a spite the 
Creator must have against some of us.” 

“I certainly agree with you that many are 
born lazy, but I do not blame the Creator, if by 
him you mean God. He would not. They are 
not the natural outcome of Nature, but the un- 
natural freaks of Nature.” 

“It does seem rather rough on Him. Well, I 
guess I am a freak; but freaks are common.” 

“Common enough to seem natural and the 
non- freaks to be unnatural. Do you recollect 
Ruskin’s definition of human nature?” 

“Yes, but he is ideal.” 

“Right.” 

“Yes, but. Doctor, to come to the fine point, 
how many qf us believe in a Creator? It is a 
pleasing myth, the Santa Claus style; but that 
is all. We are all mere infants in fact. Mere 
toys amuse us. Life is only a great playhouse. 


Angelward 


197 

He who plays best is winner, he who toils most 
receives most kicks and blows. There is no 
justice. It is all topsy-turvey scramble after 
nothing at all. We are here and we are not. 
He who sits on the fence and watches the game 
comes out as well in the end. There is no ex- 
planation for our origin. We are here, we are 
away, spontaneous growth, if you like.” 

“Have you studied evolution?” 

“Why, no, Doctor ! I have never really 
studied anything but my own comfort, and that 
has not cost me much labor; born in the bone 
to look out for number one. It takes too much 
effort to study, does it not?” 

“No, I cannot agree with you. I like to know 
the why of things.” 

“Feminine curiosity! Do you ever get satis- 
faction? Know little and you think you know 
much.” 

“One certainly does see wider fields ahead of 
her the more she asks why, but it is her duty 
to advance. 

'Where is the rebel’s right for you alone? 

Noble rebellion lifts a common load ; 

But what is he who flings his own load off, 

And leaves his fellows toiling? 

Rebels’ rights? 

Say rather deserters. O, you smiled ! 

From your clear heights on all the million lots 
Which yet you brand as abject.’ 

“You do not approve then of woman stepping 
out?” 


Angelward 


198 

“No, she was made to be fascinating and at- 
tractive, a flame around which we poor men as 
moths must fly, she has no real use. Such awful 
blunders as she commits, when she does step out, 
as you put it. Now. in that murder case where 
Mrs. Peters should have appeared, see the result. 
She is afraid, worries herself ill and her physi- 
cian sends her off to a health resort and the trial 
is put off until she recovers. A poor prisoner 
has to spend another six months in jail because 
my lady cannot go to court. See, you cannot de- 
pend on her!” 

“But your argument is weak. At first you 
state that this woman ought to be weak, and 
then you condemn her for being weak. You 
men to a great extent make women fools.” 

“O, no. Doctor! We want her to be enter- 
taining, but not brainy, you know.” 

“Not to use her reason? How can she enter- 
tain you if she knows nothing? That is rather 
uncomplimentary to your sex.” 

“Of course you are hard! There is a kind of 
woman's knowledge, or rather art, in which 
she fascinates one, and yet she is not brainy. 
Woman’s reason is no reason at all. Men do not 
expect her to give any reason except ‘because.’ 
She always jumps at conclusions, so there is no 
use of her wasting time, teasing her brains and 
wrinkling her face over what she in the end 
will not use.” 

“And is her jumping at conclusions not nine 
times out of ten correct? What do you call it? 
Is it not intuition, prescience, foreknowledge? 
Woman’s ‘because’ has a deeper meaning than 


Angelward 


199 


many suppose. Woman feels rather than knows, 
that is, woman who has not developed reason to 
any extent; she feels the cause of an effect; 
but not being able to reason on it, hesitates to 
give expression to her idea and says merely 'be- 
cause.' She knows all the same, but this is not 
the highest state for her ; she is merely living on 
the principal of what has been handed down to 
her and is not increasing it by adding on interest 
year by year as she should do. Intuition is all 
right, it is inherited reason; but the heir ought 
to add his own mite of reason to the inherited 
sum." 

"She's an expert at guessing, that is all." 

"No, she has a keener, more subtle insight." 

"Well, I have not delved into occultism." 

"Neither have I; but my reason or ‘no 
reason,’ " and Don looked mischievously at her 
companion, "can account for such a factor." 

"There it is! Woman can believe in any- 
thing." 

"Well, but tell me why do you condemn Mrs. 
Peters’ action? It is in accordance with your 
first statement. She is too nervous to go to 
court. liow can you expect your pretty, friv- 
lous, entertaining butterfly to be strong-minded 
enough to face such an ordeal, one from which 
most sensible men shrink. If you want her to 
be a doll you must not expect more than doll- 
like actions from her. Your statements are con- 
tradictory.” 

"I agree with you. She ought to be a doll of 
doll-like actions. I would not expect her to go 
to court, but she demands the right to go; wo- 


200 


Angel WARD 


man’s suffrage, and so forth. You are contra- 
dictory, too. I like to talk to you; you amuse 
me. 

“I do not as a rule assume the role of an 
amuser,” and Don looked indignant. 

‘'O, don’t get angry!” 

‘‘No, but I do like to be treated as a reasonable 
being.” 

“Yes, yes, I shall endeavor to consult your 
tastes in future. You know you are different 
from the other women here. Well, really I came 
in for a visit; I do require some aid and advice 
in passing the time. Give me a prescription and 
I shall endeavor to obey it to the letter, no mat- 
ter how nauseating.” 

“Get some steady employment.” 

“Impossible! I am not in anyway prepared 
for such. The system must be in a fit condition* 
to receive a drug or it will not have the desired 
effect.” 

“I thought that you would obey to the letter, 
and I am supposed to know the state of your 
system” 

“Impossible ! Not impossibilities, though. 
Doctor.” 

“Become interested in some philanthropic 
scheme. I see the need of many here.” 

“Impossible! I hate to have to plan and to 
think for any one. I do not want to do so even 
for myself, and I do not love man.” 

“I am afraid that you are hopeless.” < 

“So others have said. You are giving only a 
confirmatory diagnosis.” 


Angel WARD 201 

‘‘Shall I give you a prescription?” and Don 
looked at him. 

‘'Why, yes ; but I may not have it filled out.” 

‘‘Shall I? Well, yes. Go and hang yourself.” 

“Worse still. That would take too much reso- 
lution. No, there is nothing for me to do but 
exist till I depart. My palliative measures must 
be pleasure. Say, Dr. Fenwick,” and the aim- 
less man did arouse himself and look intently 
at Don, and his face became more serious ; 
“what do you understand by life, anyway? 
Whence came we? Whither go we? I do not 
know. I have never had energy to dis- 
cover the truth, if it is discoverable. What is the 
good of our existence? I cannot believe life as 
it is preached to-day. Now, can you?” 

“Not as it is preached from the orthodox pul- 
pits, but as it is preached by Nature, but only 
to a limited extent. There are fields and fields 
of knowledge yet unknown to the most advanced 
and I am not one of them. I know but little, but 
this little has shown me truth. I believe that 
many of the clergy preach as they do because 
if they preached otherwise their flocks would 
not, could not, comprehend them. They them- 
selves see farther, or at least have doubts.” 

“Why do you tliink so. Doctor? They must 
be hypocrites then. Do you think Dr. Pearson 
is above what he preaches?” 

“I cannot say. No, I think that he is a slave 
to theology. He has made a god of it; but he 
is not a typical man alter the newer, higher or- 
der. No, a man is not necessarily a hypocrite. 
If his people are not yet ready for the higher 


202 


Angelward 


truth he must lead them up by slow degrees. 
They cannot jump to his level. It is contrary 
to evolution and we have it in every phase of 
life. Hypocrisy is the intent to deceive. These 
men do not wish to deceive, but rather to lead 
their flocks into truth. Dr. Pearson is only one 
minister.’' 

“Yes, but an influential one. I cannot listen 
to him, so I do not go to church. No, I am a 
sceptic.” 

“That may be one step in advance.” 

“Really! do you think so? I thought it was 
supposed to be a good many backward.” 

“Doubts are good if they cause us to think. 
There is some life where they exist. Unless you 
doubt, you will not think ; but do not be satisfied 
with saying T do not know;’ strive to know.” 

“It requires too much exertion.” 

“You are impossible! Exertion appears to be 
the bete noir of your existence. In searching 
for truth you will become so fascinated that 
you will not think of exertion. You are much 
more sensible now to exertion in your aimless 
endeavor to put in the time. Busy people do not 
stop to consider exertion. You are lazy.” 

“Yes, I admit the fact. The Risdpns have 
always detested labor. They have been aristo- 
cratically inclined.” 

“Falsely so. Labor is noble.” 

“Really, I do begin to feel a little better. You 
are a wonderful doctor. I shall blow your horn 
for you. Now that we have gotten fairly 
started, will you explain some things for me, or 
rather give me your opinion on them. It is a 


Angelward 


203 


new thing for me to ask questions. I generally 
just take for granted.” 

“It must be a new thing to ask them of a wo- 
man, one of those fascinating, unreasonable be- 
ings.” 

“You are sarcastic.” 

“No, not a bit. That is your definition of 
what we are.” 

“Yes, but never mind ; please answer my ques- 
tions. Do you or do you not believe in a Per- 
sonal God, who exists up in a Heaven and issues 
orders to old worlds and forms new worlds?” 

“I consider God as the Creative Force, the 
Soul of Nature, the Principle of Life, God is 
Love, Love is Life, Life the Soul of Nature.” 

“Stop ! stop ! ! I cannot grasp all that. Love ! 
Why, what is it? It is a myth.” 

“The sentimental nonsense, the effect that is 
taken for it, selfishness clad in false garments; 
but Love itself is real. It is true. It is the Life 
of the World. Love rules everything. We have 
it in different degrees; we have chemical love, 
brute love and human love and highest of all 
God love, the sum total of all love. As to there 
being a Personal God, yes, there is one; only 
not in the sense of a spirit of masculine gender, 
a high and mighty Jehovah, but rather as the 
Divine in man. You are a Personal God and 
so am I.” 

“Blasphemy, Doctor !” 

“No, what we have of the Divine in us is our 
Personal God. Christ was the most Personal 
God that has existed. God as the Soul of Nature 
is impersonal.” 


204 


Angelward 


“You are fanciful, but this is delightful. Little 
did I think to spend such a delectable hour. Do 
explain more of this. Where did you get these 
fancies 

“They are not fancies. They are truths. I 
studied them, as you may also do. The Book 
of Nature is open to all who will may read it. 
You may laugh at Chemical Love, but what is 
chemical affinity? Love seeks love and the two 
unite. There is a marriage of atoms. If there 
were not all would be discord. This world is the 
result of Love. When Byron sang, 

‘O Love, young love bound in thy rosy bands! 
Let sage or cynic prattle as they will. 

These hours, and these alone, 

Relieve life’s years of ill,” 

he did not comprehend the true meaning of 
Love. He mistook sensuous love for the true, 
real love, which is Nature’s Soul. Love which 
comes through the five senses is not the highest 
love. It has not the true, lasting qualities. It 
could not build a world. At the first difficulty 
it would disappear and disaster would result. 
Love must be strong, long-enduring. If we al- 
ways did right, obeyed Nature, we should have 
no unhappiness ; but Love is only growing in us. 
We do not possess it to perfection so we often 
fall.” 

“I suppose you do not believe that a perfect 
man and woman lived in Eden?” 

“Not in the sense of angelic perfection, but 
rather as perfect brutes, which obeyed implicitly 


Angelward 


20S 

Nature. The human stage was just then dawn- 
ing. An animal a little over the brute with 
reason taking the place of instinct was evolved, 
and now took his place in the world’s arena. 
It was an Eden to him, he obeyed law, he did 
no conscious wrong, for he had no conscience — 
conscience is only Reason — but as reason devel- 
oped more and more in him he disobeyed instinct 
and his reason being in a very infantile stage, he 
fell into error — the old story of Pandora and 
that of Adam and Eve are one and the same. 
Man has to have some explanation, and in his 
infant days, as when he is a baby some poetical, 
non-scientific nursery tale is all he is capable of 
comprehending. Woman, as the more impul- 
sive, fell first. She has ever been the leader. 
This so-called fall of man, it was no fall, but 
a step out into light was necessary to raise him 
from the mere animal plane. A child stumbles 
in the attempt to walk, so does man in his walk 
Heavenward. He is now struggling for truth, 
and he will gain the heights some day; but he 
has many a struggle ahead of him.” 

“You make life hard.” 

‘Tt is hard, because of our ignorance and stub- 
bornness. Many seek consolation for their 
errors in heaping them on a Creator. To many 
it is a great comfort, but they will never rise. 
One has to work out his own destiny. After 
childhood he is his own creator.” 

“What shall be my destiny?” 

“You are experiencing it now. Is it good or 
bad?” 


2o6 


Angelward 


“It lies in your power to make it good.” 

“Is there any such thing as being converted? 
Can a man sin and be all forgiven for that sin ?” 

“He can determine to sin no more and make 
all the reparation in his power for the sin; but 
a sin once committed always leaves a mark. Lop 
off a branch of a tree, can you put it on again? 
It is never too late to mend, though.” 


Angelward 


207 


CHAPTER XXVIIL 

‘"Hello, Dr. Don ! Can’t you wait ? I never 
knew another such flier.” 

“Why ! Miss Webster, I did not know that 
you were near.” 

“I have been chasing you for half a mile. I 
was in Madame’s parlor when you passed. That 
old fool of a Risdon was there. He declares that 
you have cured him. I do hope so. I have come 
to the conclusion that I need some curing also. 
I am dreadfully ill.” 

“Nonsense !” 

“Well, I am ! I just do not know what to do. 
I am aching for action and I cannot find it. I 
began pelting pillows around my room this 
morning. I shall die soon if I do not get it.” 

“Serious, indeed! Well, just lay your hand to 
the first duty.” 

“I hate duties as much as that old fool does. 
So you have him down to evolution. He and I 
shall be able to form an evolution club. Charm- 
ing! Really, you intend to revolutionize Te- 
cumseh.” 

“I wish I could make the people really know 
what life is.” 

“You cannot stir these idiots. You will have 
to buy new brains for them.” 

“Rather help them to develop what they have. 


208 


Angelward 


This is the day of conservative surgery. We 
save and use what there is instead of amputating 
or excising and replacing by artificial means. 
You can help me.” 

^‘Me! I know nothing of patching up broken 
or atrophied brains.” 

“Yes, ^me.^ You have brains.” 

“No, they are all muddled. I have not had 
any education. I attended a ladies’ college and 
learned nothing but how to deceive and have all 
the fun imaginable.” 

“I have not much of an opinion of them my- 
self. One learns to battle with life better in the 
public and high schools. These seminaries are 
refined reformatories in too many instances 
for girls who are unmanageable at home. Such 
places never improve them but merely keep them 
out of mischief. They are kept off the street. 
Girls there are treated in the mass and not indi- 
vidually. Start a woman’s club.” 

“And all we shall do will be to gossip.” 

“Not at all. You will soon lose interest in 
such.” 

“I hae ma doots ; but I’ll think it over.” 

“Take up Domestic Science. It ought to be 
introduced into the schools. Work it up. There 
are many things.” 

“Yes, but these girls would rather have a 
Browning club, take up some non-understand- 
able thing. They think that that is learned and 
literary.” 

“That may be overcome. Nothing is impossi- 
ble. You are a regular wet blanket.” 

“No, only I know them so well.” 


Angelward 


209 


‘‘They are the same the world over. That is 
why a stranger can do more with them. She 
does not know their failings so well and has the 
courage to force them on. I have not much 
hope for the society girl. It is the working girl 
or the aristocratic ^irl of brains who is disgusted 
with her false position. The most liberal views 
will be found among the business girls, those 
who have been forced to earn their own living; 
they have healthier views of life; they regard 
it as full of possibilities and not either as a 
maelstrom of evil or a pleasure-ground. I hail 
their advent as a mighty deliverance for women 
from slavery, and so for man’s sake, too. They 
then go hand in hand; they are friends, not 
enemies.” 

‘T hate men. They are such selfish brutes.” 

“Not at all, in the main; but this woman’s 
emancipation will prevent them from becoming 
such. It is a necessary factor. Woman is up- 
braided for stepping out of her sphere, but she 
is not doing so. She is taking it with her, en- 
larging it.” I 

“O, but men are selfish brutes! I hate them.' 
Look at old Risdon.” 

“He is of a type not often found.’ 

“Only an exaggeration of them all.” ^ 

“You are severe on them ; but the devil is not 
so bad as he is painted.” 

“You are charitable, but won’t you explain, 
some points in evolution?” 

“Gladly, if I can.” 

“Well, old Risdon was saying that you say 


210 


Angelward 


we are in the sixth period and that the seventh 
is approaching/^ 

“Yes, the seventh will be the Angel state, the 
Heaven we hear about.” 

“Do you believe that there will be no work 
in Heaven?” 

“Not at all ; but all things shall be done accord- 
ing to law.” 

“But it will be dreadful to always do every- 
thing just exactly so. I cannot bear to make a 
cake by recipe. Pitch together, is my style.” 

“And what is the result?” 

“Flat as a pancake sometimes, hard as a brick 
and sometimes good.” 

“No certainty of result, though?” 

“No, but some people who do go by rule have 
no better luck.” 

“There is something wrong. They make some 
errors. When mankind realizes the happiness 
that comes from law he will no longer trust to 
blind chance. It will come to that.” 

“I am afraid it will be a long, long time.” 

“You are pessimistic.” 

“Yes, how can I be otherwise?” 

“True, it is hard at times. Wrong seems to 
prevail, but only through ignorance. No one 
does wrong for wrong’s sake. People are blindly 
attempting to do right. The motive is good. No 
poor girl, who errs does so just for the sake 
of doing wrong; but because she mistakes for 
love that which is not love Love will not cause 
any one to fall, for love is law. It is often those 
most capable of loving who fall; they desire love 


Angelward 


2II 


more, but in their ignorance take the poor husks 
of sensuality for the real, true love. Woman’s 
strongest and weakest point is love. It causes 
her to brave terrible /dangers to body and soul ; 
and it causes her to do wrong. She suffers 
sadly for the vain attempt to get it.” 

'‘Yes, if the men only had half she has to 
endure. It makes my blood boil at the injustice 
of it. I feel as if there is no such thing as 
justice. It is awful to think of the men going 
scot free and women suffering. Women are 
supposed to be weak; why then cause them to 
carry the heavier burden? It is unjust. One 
cannot but feel that.” 

“Yes, it appears that way; but it is not un- 
just; it is rather the just fulfilment of broken 
law. The men do not go scot free; no one sins 
without suffering sooner or later for it. Wrong 
always punishes itself. Woman’s present posi- 
tion if she errs has been a necessary safe- 
guard ; otherwise, if she had not been hemmed in 
by such rigid laws she would have fallen lower 
than man, for she has not yet developed reason 
to such an extent as he has, and her impulsive 
nature would have led her astray. If man had 
been restricted as she has been, it would have 
prevented him from many a blunder ; but, on the 
other hand, the world would be lacking in manly 
valor; his aggressive spirit could not be held 
back; he must go on, not for his sake alone, 
but also for woman’s. They go hand in hand, 
one is the complement of the other. Woman’s 
condition is the story of the ladies’ seminary on 
a large scale.” 


212 


Angelward 


“Well, I must be off. I am wasting your 
time.’’ 

“Not at all.” 

“It is good of you to say so, but ” 

“It is the truth.” 

“There is so little truth in the world, but I do 
believe you. Thank you ever so much.” 


Angelward 


213 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

“I think that I shall write to Dr. Hartz to- 
night and give him my candid opinion,” and Dr. 
Fenwick drew a table up before her grate-fire 
and began to write. 

Tecumseh, Jan. i6th, 1901. 

Dear Doctor : — 

I have finished your book and I am now going 
to attempt to give you my candid criticism of it. 
I told you, that I am very critical, so pardon me 
if I seem to err in this respect. What’s bred in 
the bone is hard to eradicate. Your book cer- 
tainly does strike the right chord, it contains the 
truth and I agree with it all, only I do think that 
you have erred in writing it, as you have done, in 
such plain language. Your motive is all right, 
but do you reach that class? I think not. They 
will not read it. You say yourself that the sale 
has been disappointing, that only the medical 
profession has read it; this, I think, clearly 
proves that you have written' for the wrong class. 
To appeal to the profession and the better edu- 
cated classes, who would read it, for they are 
anxious for knowledge of this kind, it should be 
written in a more scientific and dignified style, 
with less of the slang element; these will grate 
on people of refinement, especially in connection 


214 


Angelward 


with a subject of such a nature Truth will stand 
without being brought right down to the com- 
mon herd’s comprehension. It should be more 
scientific and less popular. You have sacrificed 
diction for plainness and failed thereby. On 
me it had the same effect as a Hornerite camp- 
meeting. You feel intensely as these people do, 
and strive to utter your intense thoughts in 
common language suited to them. These 
thoughts require a more dignified clothing. I 
cannot think, that we can expect to do much in 
raising the illiterate or those of limited educa- 
tion ; but we must rather appeal to the educated 
of the middle classes and of the aristocracy. Of 
the latter class a great many will not be taught, 
they have allowed their intellects to decay. The 
class to be most relied upon for reforms is the 
hard-working, reading, thinking middle class ; 
but, first, one ought to write for the profession, 
educate them and they will educate their patients. 
These truths ought to be taught to the rising 
generations in a scientific manner in the schools. 
They cannot be taught at home, any more than 
Domestic Science can, for parents do not know. 
If the book were mine I should destroy it, at a 
great sacrifice no doubt; but, no, on its funeral 
pyre another greater work will arise. No form 
of true work ever is lost. It was merely the 
plan of another to follow — and produce a better. 
Probably you will not agree ; but this is my can- 
did opinion. 

From your book I think that we differ in our 
religious views. I do not believe in a future ex- 
istence for me. God is eternal, but not the indi- 


Angelward 


215 


vidtial. I have my Heaven and Hell just here. 
'I may be the tadpole of an archangel/ Victor 
Hugo remarked. I say I am. I consider that 
we are all only steps in evolution ‘‘angelward.” 
We fill our places and then cease to exist, just 
as do the brute and plants. My good and evil 
influences live on after me. It helps or retards 
the future generations, but I as an individual am 
at an end. I understand that you believe in a 
future existence. 

Hoping that you will not think my criticism 
too hard, believe me, 

Yours sincerely, 

Don ALDA Fenwick. 


Erie, Jan. 20th, 1901. 

Dear Doctor : — 

I received your criticism and I admire your 
plain, outspoken truthfulness. I believe in a per- 
son stating her opinion candidly. I cannot 
agree with you, but that is not just to be expect- 
ed. I admit the book is written in a plain, un- 
dignified style, but I wrote it so purposely. I 
left myself altogether out of consideration. Later 
I will write on some other points. 

I think that you have misunderstood me as 
regards Heaven and Hell. I, too, believe that 
they exist here, but I do not understand what you 
mean — it is not clear to me — by your good and 
evil living after you. Will you kindly explain? 
I think this correspondence will be beneficial to 
us. It is a treat to meet one with some similar 


2i6 


Angelward 


views, and I appreciate the advantages accruing 
from it. 

Hoping to hear from you soon, believe me, 
Yours sincerely, 

E. Hartz. 

Tecum SEH, Jan. 30th, 1901. 
My Dear Doctor : — 

Perhaps my views were not explained clearly 
enough. It is so much easier to think and feel 
them than to give expression to them. We all 
have an influence for good or evil. The work 
we do here must have a good or bad effect on 
the world. The good we do must swell the sum 
total of Good or God the Spirit of the World. 
In two ways our influences are transmitted di- 
rectly by our children and indirectly by their 
effect on those outside of our immediate family. 
They go on doing the work we were engaged 
in. Suppose that I accomplish some good by 
that article, that good will continue to develop. 
This good result will outlive me. I think that 
the whole race is going “angelward.” This state 
will be reached when man is perfect, this will 
then be the Seventh Day, of which our Sunday 
is only a prophetic symbol; the day of perfect 
peace, not inaction but harmonious action, life 
eternal, for law obeyed will not admit of death. 
I find these views most satisfying to me. I have 
thought my way up from a faith in a golden- 
streeted Heaven, which, for some reason or 
other, never strongly appealed to my childish 
mind — I have ever been somewhat of a rebel 
from orthodoxy — to where I now stand. A few 


Angelward 


217 


months ago I believed in a future existence in a 
thwretical way, however; I had no reason for 
doing so. I fancied it plausible; but since delv- 
ing down into evolution I find this present view 
appeals more strongly to me; nay, I see truth 
in it. As the brute creation has lived and died 
and transmitted reason and altruism from its 
first phases to what man now knows of it, so I 
consider that man is only another means, a 
higher, of transmitting these qualities to those, 
who will live in the angel state. You may ask 
what do you do with such examples as Christ? 
True, one may stop to ask why, but they were 
merely outgrowths of the needs of their times, 
and they must die like us. I do not for one mo- 
ment consider this as the only truth, there are 
others far ahead of us in knowledge; so these 
examples of ours are not beyond what knowl- 
edge may be conceived of; then even in this 
world of ours we have had some more advanced 
in many respects, though not in Love — nations 
traveling angelwards but which failed through 
some weakness. Their accumulated knowledge 
is our heritage, if we shall only claim it. Christ 
profitted by that of the Egyptians. He was far 
advanced in mysticism, else how explain his mir- 
acles, needed manifestations in his day, but in 
ours as unnecessary as the juggler’s tricks. I 
do indeed thank you for your letters. I see no 
reason why a man and woman should not be 
friends, one was made for the other. There is 
education in friendship. I regard the legal mar- 
riage act of to-day as a slur on humanity, the 
need of a sinful age. If man and woman were 


2 i8 


Angelward 


united by Love, married by the courts of 
Heaven, none would be required. Imagine two 
loving, true souls forced to pledge their con- 
stancy and love. It is an outrage on such, but 
so long as Sin is so long must truth be mis- 
trusted. There are unmarried lovers. If two com- 
plements meet and insuperable barriers exist to 
a union, they are as much engaged as if the 
question had been asked, had been answered, and 
the bethrothal sealed by the ring. It is only hu- 
man weakness and inability to rise above the 
mere human which causes us to break such soul 
engagements. Our legalized marriages are 
necessary now. 

Hoping that my explanation is now clear, be- 
lieve me, » 

Yours sincerely, 

Don ALDA Fenwick. 


Erie, Feb. loth, 1901. 

My Dear Doctor : — 

Thank you for stating your views so clearly. 
I now understand what you mean, but I cannot 
agree with you. You cannot annihilate yourself. 
It is impossible. You will change your opinions 
later on. It is not wise to do so unless you can 
clearly see why. Your ideas of a future exist- 
ence were, no doubt, theoretical; if they had 
been practical you would not have changed them 
for materialism; but you will later on see the 
reasons for returning to them and will then have 
a scientific belief in them. You will then regard 


Angelward 


219 


'‘The Universe as one stupendous whole, 

Whose body Nature is and God the soul/* 

This you may consider pantheism. I am a 
mystic. You may say what is that? I have my 
happiest moments in relation with the Unseen. 
I have proved these things beyond a doubt to 
myself, and if you, too, will study them you must 
arrive at the same conclusions. Not reading 
alone, but studying the phenomena will prove 
them. I will not at present write any more of 
what may seem utter foolishness to you; but 
at some future date I shall explain some points. 

I fancy that there is a platonic Love between 
us. What think you? 

Hoping to hear from you soon, believe me. 
Yours sincerely, 

E. Hartz. 

P. S. — I have recently invested in a static 
machine and I am enjoying the study of elec- 
tricity. It is highly scientific. E. H. 

Tecum 3EH, Feb. i8th, 1901. 
My Dear Doctor : — 

You think that there is a Platonic Love be- 
tween us. What is th:it, anyway? Is there such 
a thing? I know that there is a friendship be- 
tween us, a congeniality of viev/s, and is not 
friendship only love between people, who are 
fond of each other, but who are not going to be 
united in marriage. Love exists in different de- 
grees. It is the same thing between lovers, 
friends and relatives, only under different cir- 
cumstances. Some are apt to be impartial in 


220 


Angelward 


their loving, giving all to one and none to an- 
other. Platonic at the present day, as in the day 
of Plato, is a safe term to apply to such a love 
between a man and a woman. It permits of 
more freedom. On account of the lack of virtue 
in the world men and women have been denied 
a true interchange of friendship, friend-love. A 
man may love a man as Jonathan and David; a 
woman may love a woman — it is rarely so strong 
■ — but a man and a woman must not love unless 
they are to marry. They must pluck the beau- 
tiful thing out of their breasts as they would a 
viper; now this is a stunted, stilted whim arising 
out of impurity. Platonic serves to allow of a 
little more freedom, but the feeling is the same. 
One writer says “beware when a man friend 
loves a woman friend.” I see no need of such 
advice. If it is a pure love it will only make 
each of them better. She confounds true love 
with untrue. It is hard at times to distinguish, 
but the functions of self-preservation, so strong- 
ly developed in us all, speak the truth to us if 
we will only listen. 

No, I do not regard your quotation as pan- 
theistic. I see God in all things. I am not yet 
ready to give up my materialism. As far as I 
can see it is adequate for the progress of the 
race “Angelward.” Mine is not a dry-as-dust, 
unlovely materialism, but one full of developing 
love. Few of those, who denounce materialism 
as a creed fit only for dogs have any idea of 
what real, true materialism is, they confound it 
with scepticism — wliich is no discredit to the 


Angelward 


221 


sceptic — infidelity and agnosticism. They say it 
is a hopeless creed. I say not. What matters it 
if I cease to exist if on the other hand the world 
goes on. There is hope in the true materialist’s 
heart; he sees angels some day evolved from 
the present host of struggling humanity. Am I 
asking them to believe anything which has not 
an analogy? What becomes of the dead brutes? 
Does not dust return to dust? So in man’s case. 
Does not their soul live on in the sum total of 
Good or Evil? So does man’s. One argument 
against it may be that if all necessary beliefs, 
intuitions, principles come from experience, 
either of myself or of my race, then my con- 
victions ought not to outrun the range of the 
experience of myself or of my race. You can- 
not logically put more into a conclusion than 
you have in your premises; but it is beyond all 
controversy that the experiences of myself and 
of the race have been finite. Transmitted co- 
ordinating power is the capacity dependent on 
experiences. The self-evident truths, the intui- 
tions, the laws of necessary beliefs, including 
those of conscience, are therefore not the results 
of experience, but original parts of the trans- 
mitted co-ordinating powers in man and inde- 
pendent of the co-ordinating organism; but I 
do not agree with this. We have no experiences 
greater than those evolved by this world and 
its experiences. We are steadily climbing up 
on these experiences and forming new ones. 
You must indeed think me stuck to science as 
she now is understood by the mass; but it seems 


222 


Angelward 


weird and uncanny to strike out into such new 
paths as you are treading. I am willing to in- 
vestigate, but I cannot see the need of a future 
existence. You will think me of the earth 
earthy. Yours sincerely, 

Donalda Fenwick 


Angelward 


223 


CHAPTER XXX. 

During these months in which this corre- 
spondence had taken place, Don had worked 
along steadily at her profession. It had been 
slow work; there were many disappointments, 
but she was making headway. She was able to 
do considerable reading and thinking, and also 
she was making other people think. Mr. Risdon 
and Miss Webster regarded her presence as a 
relief from tedium. Their lives were less tire- 
some. There was one, though, of whom she 
often thought in her spare moments, she often 
said, more than she ought to, but her thoughts 
would revert to him. At times she would say: 
“Don, you are a fool, you are in love; but Love 
is not for you. You have to seek your destiny 
along other lines. Do not harbor such thoughts.’^ 
In this letter- friendship Don had found a com- 
fort she had never found elsewhere; she felt as 
if they had known each other for years. There 
was a freedom in expressing her views — intense 
thoughts which she could not express to others — 
to this man, who had so much in common with 
her. Although always unconventionally inclined, 
still at times she felt that this was a most uncon- 
ventional thing to do ; but then again she would 
say: “What harm can it do, we are both ex- 
pressing truths. Even if he should not be ex- 


^24 Angelward 

actly the man I take him for, what harm can my 
expression of truth to him do me? No, I shall 
not break off, for who knows?” and Don would 
look seriously happy for a moment. 

No word of love had passed between them 
except the reference to Platonic Love. Don was 
uncertain as to his true feelings towards her. 
She had always been of a romantic turn of mind, 
weaving happy fancies for herself out of the 
garlands of love, and now at times it was easy 
for her to weave some such sweet fancies, 
sweet to the heart of every woman. Of course, 
as was customary with her, these thoughts she 
kept to herself; Don confided in Don. Don as 
a child would have confided in Elsie Pretend- 
ing, but Don grown up confided in real, alive 
Don. Don was a being who desired to be loved ; 
she prized it, she longed for it; but as yet she 
had not found it. At times she had attempted 
to hide this longing under ambition, but the at- 
tempt had not been satisfactory; Love would 
out. She knew that many people loved her, but 
she had never yet experienced that strong, true 
love which binds two hearts as one, and this is 
what Don desired. She accepted the love given 
her, but oftentimes felt how little these people 
really understood her. She often felt it was 
rather admiration than love that they had for 
her. Admiration is all right in its place, but 
where is there the man and, O! where is there 
the woman, who would not willingly cast it all 
aside for one little spark of love? Admiration 
puffs up, elates one, but love softens, levels one 
and brings her in touch with other beating 


Angelward 


225 


hearts. Admiration puts one on a pinnacle to 
be gazed at; Love draws one to another loving 
breast. Who would not rather rest her cheek 
against a living, throbbing flesh creature than 
sit enthroned on a marble pedestal? We all love 
Love with her sweet, soothing influence. We all 
court admiration, but we do not love her. Love 
causes our friends to excuse our actions, to 
grant our motives; but admiration causes them 
to criticise them. Too often Don had felt this ; 
too often had her deed been mistaken for her 
will. This correspondence was a fruitful 
source for one of her fertile imagination. Don 
wove her little sweet fancies and lived as it were 
a life in a little Paradise of her own. No out- 
side eye could penetrate the wall surrounding 
it; no one suspected this fairy life of Don, for 
she was no lovesick maiden oblivious to all other 
claims ; no, rather, it made her happier and 
brighter and better company. “How happy Dr. 
Fenwick always is!” they used to exclaim. “I 
never knew such a happy girl,” but none knew 
the cause. There were little moments of doubt 
to Don, though. 

As one who has lost his twin by death never 
feels complete, so Don longed for her twin soul. 
At times the longing was intense, and now at 
times she felt as if she must tell this man that 
she knew that he was her twin ; but, no, maidenly 
reserve forbade her. Man may, can, breathe his 
soul’s love to woman; but she must wait until 
he does so before she allows hers to become 
apparent by a word at least. Why is it a dis- 
grace for a man to refuse a woman’s oflfer of 


226 


Angelward 


marriage? Because at present woman as a rule 
has no economic standing. She has nothing but 
her heart to offer a man, and a heart is not all 
in this social bargain. No, Don must toil on. 
It was not the toiling, but the loneliness, that 
disheartened her; she had always fought alone 
and she must continue to do so. “Dear me, 
there is the bell! Who can it be? I was just 
going out,” and Don opened the door. 

“Why, Mr. Sharpe! This is a surprise!” 

“I suppose so; well, I wanted to see you on a 
particular matter. Are you engaged?” 

“Not just now. Walk right into my den.” 

“And how are you ? Blooming, never saw you 
looking better! Does Tecumseh agree with you 
or is it — ” and Mr. Sharpe looked intently at 
her and bit his lips; then releasing her hand he 
stood by the fire-place and leaned his elbow on 
the mantel and regarded her silently for a mo- 
ment. “Doctor !” 

“Yes, Mr. Sharpe.” 

“Well, what did you mean by that last letter?” 

“Why! what part of it?” 

“You know.” 

“In reference to Dr. Hartz?” 

“Yes,” and here Mr. Sharpe looked fiercely at 
her. “Yes, and I did not relish that letter one 
bit; but I suppose that you are tired of me. 
When a young man steps in an old one may go 
out, and then he is ‘so intellectual.’ I might have 
known that I was not clever enough for the 
Doctor; but I do think that you are embarking 
on a dangerous course and I do not think that 
any woman who values her reputation would do 


Angelward 


227 


so; but perhaps like lago in Othello you re- 
gard ‘a reputation as an idle imposition/ Well, 
I have said enough. I may go too far, but I 
know now that I am not clever enough for the 
Doctor. I never had much opinion of the new 
woman, I am too old-fashioned for that. You 
were a woman whom no one could help loving, 
but I see you have become critical and cynical.” 
During this unexpected outburst Don had arisen 
from her chair, and the fire had been slowly 
growing in her eyes until now they fairly blazed. 
“I think you have gone a little too far,” she said 
in a cold, haughty tone. “You know as well as 
I do that I do value my reputation, that I always 
have tried to do right and retain it.” 

“But you said in your letter that some people 
might criticise your action,” 

“True, and so they would; but did they not 
criticise my friendship for you and yet you were 
willing for me to give it to you. You are selfish. 
It is always the way. If a person is unconven- 
tional for your sake it is right, but not right for 
another’s. You are just like the rest of the 
world. Public opinion is all right as long as it 
does not prevent one from doing and receiving 
good.” 

“What good are you likely to receive from this 
correspondence? As likely as not he is showing 
your letters to an admiring circle of chosen 
spirits. I did think you wiser.” 

“Not for one moment do I think Dr. Hartz 
capable of such a breach of faith; and even if it 
were possible, I have done nothing wrong. It 
cannot hurt my character. I wrote in truth 


228 


Angelward 


and for truth alone. We are only intellectual 
friends, nothing more.” 

“Well, I consider your manner of becoming 
acquainted all wrong. Well, I shall not say 
more or I may say too much. Of course you are 
at liberty to write to whom you may wish, but I 
am disappointed in you.” 

“I cannot but feel sorry that you should take 
such a view of this matter. I had thought you 
broader-minded, but at the same time I am satis- 
fied that I am not in danger of going to destruc- 
tion.” 

“Well, I suppose we may as well part as we 
cannot agree. Good afternoon,” and Mr. 
Sharpe walked out of the office. 

“One never knows people until she rubs them 
the wrong way. Well, I shall not break my 
heart over this affair. I did like him, but I 
cannot like him any more. As long as I suf- 
fered criticism for his sake it was all right, but — 
O, bother! people are frauds,” and Don hastily 
picked up a letter which a small boy who occa- 
sionally went to the office for her shoved under 
the door with “a letter, ma’am, and I didn’t 
write it.” “From Harty, eh? Funny that they 
should come so close together I Always in 
trouble, Donalda Fenwick! Born in a storm, 
lived in a storm, and will die in a storm.” 


Angelward 


229 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

Erie, Feb. 28th. 

My Dear Doctor : — 

Were you looking for a letter yesterday? 
Were you a little disappointed? Well, I should 
have written and there was no excuse but a 
warm room, which made me drowsy. The 
weather has been rather disagreeable and I have 
been forced to have a fire to keep my static ma- 
chine in good humor. Did you notice that we 
must have sent off magazines about the same 
time? You asked me whether I had read the 
‘‘Emigrant Banshee.” I did not. It looked too 
much like fiction and I paid no attention to it. 
No fiction for me, truth is stranger than fiction. 
I notice that you are getting gradually touched 
as regards your stand upon materialism. After 
some time material objects will have a different 
aspect and you will find that you will be able 
to understand it better; that 

“The Universe is one stupendous whole. 

Whose body Nature is and God the Soul.” 

Just ponder over this. You do not seem to be 
able to grasp the idea of a future existence. 
There may be good grounds for it, but what is 
the use of the existence of this planet? It is 


230 


Angelward 


here and we are here, and what is the object of 
our existence here? This is too stupendous a 
thought for human brains. It leads us into 
philosophical speculations and then we become 
lost in doubt. The existence of a future state 
can be determined just as well as I can speak 
to any one here. If you knew the glories of 
these realms you would believe in a future ex- 
istence where all is activity. I know little as 
yet. You mentioned mental telepathy. I can 
often catch a message that is flashed upon me. 
"Do I often think of you?’ Certainly, but I have 
never noted the times. 

You have a marvelous way of regulating your 
correspondence, always the same number of 
pages and about the same number of words. 
You seem to have a limitless supply of material, 
and you always seem to measure it off into so 
many yards, like a dry goods clerk. You think 
my letters like a continued story, always some- 
thing to come ; well, this is not much like it, but 
there is a good chapter to follow; but I do not 
like to write it until you will understand psycho- 
logical phenomena better. As yet you think me 
uncanny but hypnotism and so are facts. You 
are stuck to science as she is, but you will step 
out into advanced paths. We shall amuse our- 
selves on the steps, as it were, for a time. Pa- 
tience is a virtue. Believe me. 

Yours sincerely, 

E. Hartz. 

The thoughts contained in the last chapter 
had been constantly in Don’s mind for the last 


Angelward 


231 


few days, ever since the arrival of the Doctor’s 
last letter. She had gone over and over her 
answer, had wove fairy fancies, had lived in a 
state of exaltation, was, in fact Don out-Donned. 
She fairly swam in ether, and why? Why did 
not this letter contain soul’s nectar for her ? 
Perhaps not palpably on the surface, but only 
hidden under a cover of words. What could 
this good chapter be? Why it had to do with 
psychological phenomena, yes; but what kind? 
Was not their whole meeting strange, uncanny, 
mystic! Was it not in Harty’s mind brought 
about by hidden forces, was not the hand of the 
occult in it? Had he not once asked her her 
birthday to see if theirs were close together; had 
he not asked for a photograph, which she had 
not sent; had he not rushed this correspondence 
along, plunged right into it, been impatient if 
every letter was not answered in a few days? 
Did this not all tend towards one thing — their 
marriage? That was the good chapter. Readers, 
you may think our woman doctor foolish, but 
is she not a woman too? Don thought her 
thoughts to herself, which every woman cannot 
do, nor every man, either 

On this cool spring evening she lit a fire in 
her grate, a roaring, crackling, sizzling fire; she 
drew her chair and table up close to it and she 
donned an old cardinal tea-gown and sat by her 
fire and basked in its glow and warmth and 
fancied herself as happy as the angels. It was 
a Sunday evening, and while the rest of the 
world was at church, some to worship God, 
others to gaze on the assembled audiences, and 


232 


Angelward 


many for divers reasons, Don sat by her own 
hearth, happy, alone and not alone. A picture 
of a sixteenth century medical student hung op- 
posite to her. He, too, was clad in red and he, 
too, was alone save for a skeleton which faced 
him. Was hers a .skeleton, was it a dead skele- 
ton of a hope? 

The fire burned, the wind blew outside and 
Don aroused herself and wrote: 


Tecumseh. 

My Dear Doctor : — 

And so I am like a dry goods clerk! Well, 
I am in a grocery shop, at the allspice counter, 
and I have any amount of it to sell to you; not 
nice aromatic spices, but hot, pungent ones, 
adultered with pepper, mustard and horseradish. 
I have a delightful grate fire, but you shall not 
sit by it and get drowsy over it. No, rather you 
shall sit out on a stump in a swamp with fierce 
lightning playing about, fit environment for a 
wizard. A warm room makes you lazy, does it? 
Too comfortable to write, eh? I like that, I do. 
Please remember that this is a real, alive, flesh 
and blood electric machine that requires to be 
kept in good humor or else she will get in an 
awfully bad humor, go right off at a tangent. 

That was mere coincidence our sending those 
magazines off at the same time, nothing more. 

As to your ideas on fiction, I do not agree. I 
read fiction to keep in touch with the thoughts 
of others. There is more truth in fiction than 
one dreams of. The leaders are never so far 
in advance of public thought. There are some 


Angel WARD 


233 


rhapsodizing writers who do soar too far — 
Marie Corelli — but to you they would perhaps 
be real. Fiction has a well-merited place in the 
world’s literature Fiction as compared with 
Science is like to the average mind, a light 
French dinner and a heavy English one; as 
champagne to stout. There are minds as there 
are people, who require lighter and more easily 
digestible, assimilable food, and at times to us 
all comes the desire for such. After writing on 
hard exams did you never feel like indulging 
in penny-dreadfuls or shilling-shockers. As a 
drunkard hides his troubles in drink, so we bury 
our brains in light reading. This, of course, re- 
fers to the light in fiction. Your fiction is a 
fiction of the clouds, it is real to you but not 
more real than are the love-scrapes of Arabella 
Walters to the reader of light fiction; she reads 
herself in Arabella. One gains a good idea of 
human nature from the well written novel. 

Materialism still remains my rock. I believe, 
apart from a future existence, our views are 
much the same, mine as glorious as yours. It 
is so hard to just express fully one’s deepest 
thoughts — language is too barren. The soul has 
an intensity which the tongue cannot have. 
'‘Speech is but broken light upon the depth of 
the unspoken.” I am thinking. “The object of 
our existence!” Why, to make a glorious 
angel band, but I am not to be of it. Worlds 
must exist. Our perfect world will exist and 
then cease, be a cool moon. Why, a perfect 
tooth! Does it exist forever and a day? The 
angels may live forever, I cannot say; but I do 


234 


Angelward 


not; I do my work and then lay me down to 
die. 

The next time I ask you a question, please do 
read it aright. I did not ask you if you often 
thought of me; what I did ask was if you ever 
had thought that I was thinking of you. I was 
trying an experiment in mental telepathy. 

How do you like spice? 

And so a good chapter is coming! May it be 
soon. You certainly have the happy faculty of 
arousing the curiosity of your reader and keep- 
ing her in suspense. It is tiresome waiting, and 
doctors should know better than to sit out on 
the steps this cool weather. You are tormenting. 
The dear only knows what kind of ghostly, 
ghastly, mystical, weird, wizardy, witchy yarn 
it may be! You are a wizard. Do you — and 
here Don stopped, smiled, bit the end of her 
pen, looked into the fire, leaned her head on her 
left hand, drew little nothingless strokes on her 
blotter and then said yes I will — not think that 
maybe, perhaps, I might rather hear that, that 
is like better to hear the story told by you in 
person, a written story never has the same force 
or eloquence? — (There, that’s not plain and yet 
he may catch on if it is really true; that is, if I 
am correct in my surmise). 

Well, now that I have disposed of my spices 
and have measured off a few remnants of home- 
spun, real old Scotch tweed, I shall say good- 
night. I, too, am feeling the soporific effects of 
a fire. Hoping you are wide-awake and the 
spice is having a good punishing effect — will you 


Angelward 


235 


have spice again or is it too miichy-much ? Be- 
lieve me. 

Yours Sincerely, 

D. Fenwick. 

Erie. 

My Dear Doctor : — 

The allspices were duly received and digested; 
there were many aromatics among them. You 
are pretty familiar with the therapeutic effects 
of an aromatic, how it produces a peculiar 
warmth of the epigastric region and a sooth- 
ing effect on the solar plexus. I immediately 
got off the stump when your letter arrived, and 
for a time I imagined that I sat beside a grate- 
fire with “a real, live, flesh and blood electric 
machine by the name of Donalda close beside 
me. The elements were in good humor and 
so she smiled. How is that for a picture? 

The spice letters suit me perfectly. I shall 
expect a little thrown in every once in a while, 
whilst you are measuring off some of your dry 
goods into “homespun” lengths. There is no use 
talking, you do like the “real thing”; but since 
you, at present, regard me as a weird and ghost- 
ly correspondent, you will soon come to the con- 
clusion that after all we know but little about it. 
I imagine that your head is swimming in the 
cosmos at present, mixed up in the ethereal vi- 
brations of the different planets, with the ace of 
hearts, clubs, diamonds and spades everlastingly 
changing places. That literature which I sent 
you is not to prove an ethereal world, but only 
to show how little after all we know. 


236 


Angelward 


I suppose that you do not believe in astrology. 
Of course you will not tolerate any such uncanny 
ideas. I believe in it. I certainly am loading 
you up with uncanny subjects; so I shall turn 
down to mundane affairs. * * h* 

Hoping to hear from you very soon, believe 
me, Yours sincerely, 

E. Hartz. 
Erie. 

My Dear Doctor : — 

At last I have decided to write you the letter 
containing the good chapter. I felt that I had 
to be in just the right mood to do it or it would 
be a failure. You will not believe all I write, 
and I cannot blame you. If I had written it at 
first you would have thought me living in a 
lunatic asylum; but I am level-headed enough, 
and you will soon see as I do, for you have the 
proper organization. I became interested in 
spiritualism some years ago. I had studied hyp- 
notism and used it and suggestive therapeutics in 
my work; but these are only minor degrees of 
the great factor, spiritualism. A few years ago 
I lost a very dear friend under peculiar circum- 
stances. We were unable to diagnose her dis- 
ease. After her decease I started out to see if 
I could communicate with her, and I obtained 
a trumpet medium and through it heard from 
her that we indeed had been mistaken in our 
diagnosis, but that as far as human skill and 
knowledge were concerned nothing could have 
been done for her. Since then I have often com- 
municated with her; in fact, during my spare 


Angelward 




moments I am often in touch with other worlds. 
I have found other friends there who are friends 
indeed. One, a physician, often aids me in my 
diagnosis and treatment of cases. I wrote that 
book at his suggestion. I am only an instrument 
in their hands to work on this earth. I feel that 
I have a mission and so will you before long. 
I do not intend to marry ; in fact, I have no incli- 
nations for matrimony; if I had my object would 
be to have children, and I do not care for small 
ones. I do not think that it would be expedient 
for me to do so. I have not seen sufficient of the 
world yet. You must think me an odd specimen 
of humanity; but I think that you do understand 
me much better than most people do, and before 
long when you, too, will understand psycholog- 
ical phenomena better, you will understand my 
motives. 

Hoping that you will not altogether misunder- 
stand my views or misinterpret them, I remain. 
Yours sincerely, 

E. Hartz. 

''And this is the good chapter!” Donalda 
Fenwick remained standing as she had done 
during the perusal of this letter, the “good 
chapter.” A letter which in her innermost soul 
had seemed to mean so much to her, and now 
that she held it in her hand and had read its 
contents, was nothing after all to her, a mean- 
ingless conglomeration of a mystic’s imagings, 
the result of self-hypnotism, fraud on the part 
of discerning persons — so-called mediums. Won- 
derful in its way, but all false, not wonderful 


238 


Angelward 


and soul-satisfying as she had hoped; it carried 
no hope to her, but rather quenched all she had 
treasured up. By one stroke her air-castles had 
vanished. She had seemed to be drawn to this 
man by some impelling force. Try her best and 
she could not keep her thoughts from reverting 
to him. '‘Was it, could it be,” and a look of 
horror came into her face, “that he had some 
subtle influence over her which she could not 
resist; but, no, she was not easily influenced.” 
This letter was a disappointment to her. She 
had known that it would be of a mystical char- 
acter, but she had hoped that in a mystical sense 
she would be included in it; but, no, she was 
altogether outside the pale. She had half 
imagined it would be a statement of some occult 
forces which had impelled him to write to her; 
that, in fact, that he had had communications 
with the other world concerning it. He had 
asked her birthday; he had acknowledged their 
kindred desires; he had said how he should like 
to meet her, to be with her; he had pictured 
their sitting by her grate. All these were little 
remarks that any man might pass to any woman ; 
but in this case Don had fancied them prophetic 
of a coming event, the one that she longed for 
with all her soul, the meeting of and union 
with her twin. She longed for her completion.. 
Ambition at times obscured this longing, but her 
ambition was feminine and it was a masculine 
force she required to render her complete. A 
husband’s cleverness would satisfy when her 
own would not. At times she felt this longing 
intensely, but always in her own silent, intense 


Angelward 


239 


way. “No, she was not mentioned in this letter. 
It was only himself. It was self, self, in a 
spiritual way, but self all the same. He did 
not want her. He was complete without her. 
He did not need her. Was this friend,” and a 
sharp pang of jealousy darted through her, “his 
completion ; but, no, no, it was not that that ; but 
evidently he did not feel the need of her or of any 
other woman.” She folded the letter, com- 
pressed her lips and walked to her writing desk, 
where she sat down and at once answered this 
letter. Why she did so she did not know. She 
must do something. She thanked him for his 
long letter, saying as yet she could not see as he 
did, but that she would admit the possibility of 
such under increased knowledge. Not a word 
did she say as to her disappointment. “No,” 
he should never know that; they were friends 
and should remain so. She could be brave. She 
laughingly rated him on his ideas of a home. 
She folded the letter, sealed the envelope and 
leaned back wearily in her chair and tried to 
think. “He is just hypnotizing himself. I can 
easily conceive of a person allowing himself 
to form such a habit and imagine that he is com- 
municating with departed souls. It is suggestion 
pure and simple — Hornerite camp-meeting pros- 
trations — why, it is only a species of insanity! 
Can it be possible? No, but,”' and Don 
snatched a photograph of the Doctor from a 
drawer in the desk and carefully scanned it. 
“Yes, he is queer-looking; but, no, I am now act- 
ing on suggestion. No, he is sane ; but is he not 
in danger ? Can I warn him ? No,” and realizing 


240 


Angelward 


her helplessness she leaned her head on the table 
and a strange thing happened — strange for Don 
— but was it not always the strange that did 
happen ; she shed a few tears. 


Huron. 

My Dear Doctor : — 

The gods say that if you want to kill a man 
first make him mad. I am most heartily 
ashamed of my conduct towards you on that 
afternoon on which I called on you to pour 
my phials of indignation forth at your new wo- 
man doings. I was nothing but a jealous brute. 
I should have known better than treat you in 
that way. You, who have always been so noble 
and good to me; but, Doctor, it is hard for a 
man not to be jealous when he loves. How 
would you have felt if I had written so enthusi- 
astically about a new friend? I admire you for 
telling me, but it hurt at first. I should have 
waited until I had cooled down. Just think what 
a pleasant call it might have been if I had been 
sensible. 

Hoping that you will forgive me and that we 
shall be friends forever, believe me, 

Yours sincerely, 

W. Sharpe. 

‘Triends forever.” Yes, but not just the same 
kind as we would have been. 

Well, I must go and see Miss Webster. I 
wonder what ails her. 


Angelward 


241 


CHAPTER XXXIL 

Don walked up to an old-fashioned house on 
the outskirts of the city situated in an old-fash- 
ioned garden, and was admitted into a dark hall 
by an old servant. “Will you just walk up to 
Miss Nancy’s room, Miss? I think you know 
it. I don’t know what ails her. She won’t tell 
any one and she lies there so still and quiet as a 
mouse, not one bit like herself.” 

“O, yes, I shall find my way, thank you !” and 
Don ran up the stairs. 

“If you want anything. Miss, just call me.” 

“Thank you.” Don entered Nancy’s room 
and found her lying in a large, old-fashioned 
bed, hung with quaint old valences. As Don 
approached her, Nancy turned with a languid 
air and slowly regarded her as if just awakening 
from a stupor. She looked too careworn and 
wearied to have awakened from a sleep ; then 
throwing one hand petulantly above her head 
and toying with the bed clothes with the other, 
she said: “O, I’m so glad you have come! I 
can tell you everything;” and then suddenly 
turning from Don she burst out into a fit of 
hysterical weeping. Don took her hand and sat 
quietly by her bedside, waiting until the out- 
burst should be over. At last only a few long 
sobs at intervals came from the girl, and then 


242 Angelward 

these ceasing she turned towards Don once 
more. “You must think me a fool?'^ 

“Not at all, but do tell me what has caused 
you all this grief? This is not like you.’' 

“Not much, is it? Well, I guess I am heart- 
broken. I never felt like this before. I did not 
know that I had a heart; but I guess I have, 
like other poor mortals.’* 

“Of course you have, and a good kind one, 
too, as I full well know.” 

“You are blarneying me, Doctor. Well,” and 
Nancy wiped a tear which was slowly trickling 
down her cheek and then began to toy with the 
bed clothes, “I am heart-broken. The only being 
I ever really loved has deceived me. I never 
should have thought it possible. I did think her 
honest and true — men I have no use for, they 
have no hearts; and I loved her instead.” 

“O !” thought Don, “some one else has claimed 
this mite’s love and she has been false to her 
own sex. The old story. Quite natural.” But 
she only said, “tell me all about it.” 

“Did you know that I loved a girl? Not just 
as other girls love girls, but as, well, as I should 
want a man to love me. I never told you; I 
thought that you might think me foolish — ^you 
are so strong — but I had to love her.” 

“No, you did not tell me; but I heard of it.” 

“Of course! Mrs. Grundy.” 

“Well, yes; but a kind Mrs. Grundy.” 

“Madame?” 

“Yes.” 

“She thinks me foolish.” 

“She does not perhaps understand your need.” 


Angelward 


243 

“Do you?” and Nancy looked searchingly at 
Don. 

“I think so.” 

“I might have known. I wish I had told you. 
Was I foolish?” 

“No and yes. You went a little too far, were 
too extravagant in your affection, lavished too 
much on one party, when there were others 
needing your love. We are all apt to live selfish- 
ly. It is easy to love those whom we like; but 
you were only in your good-hearted way blindly 
seeking satisfaction for your love nature, which 
has not received its proper amount of love; you 
are impetuous in all your actions, in love as in 
any other.” 

“Yes, I know it is my nature.” 

“But you must try and unmake yourself in 
this respect. We all have to unform as well as 
form our beings. Oftentimes we are many dis- 
agreeable things by heredity, but we must banish 
them. As the gardener trains his plants, so we 
must train ourselves to be beautiful, loving crea- 
tures. We are like plants, our love is as the 
blossoms of the plants, and the more we love the 
more we can love; love like blossoms multiplies; 
we pluck blossoms to have more, we give forth 
love to have more to give.” 

“I am a regular thistle then, and no person 
wants any more of its blossoms. No, cut the 
plant down. I don’t know what I was born 
for.” 

“A natural question, but seeing that you are 
here find a use for yourself. No one of us 


244 


Angelward 


perhaps is born with a definite purpose. Repro- 
duction is as yet too vague for that.” 

“Well, I feel like a regular volcano.” 

“And so do I at times.” 

“You!” and Nancy looked at her incredu- 
lously. 

“Yes, I do; but I have to put the check-rein 
on.” 

“Really!” and Nancy still looked wonderingly 
at her. “I thought you were an example of 
dignified repose.” 

“You cannot always tell by outward appear- 
ances. Long ago I learned to keep within my- 
self. I have never been understood, and to pre- 
vent being more misunderstood I have kept my 
intense thoughts, loves and passions to myself. 
One ought to understand herself better than any 
one else can understand her; but to do this she 
must study herself. It is the lack of knowing 
and appreciating motives which causes misun- 
derstandings. There are more good intentions 
in the world than one can have any idea of.” 

“I suppose that I did expect too much from 
that ungrateful girl. Just imagine her pretend- 
ing to love me above all creatures and at the 
same time she was in love with a man ! O ! it is 
horrible! The perfidious thing! I hate her.” 

“You will until you understand her nature 
also. Of course she was false to you, but she 
was also trying to be false to her own nature, 
and she was not strong enough to remain false 
to her woman nature. No woman can love an- 
other woman as she can love a man. It is im- 
possible. There is an affinity between the sexes 


Angelward 


245 


which is impossible between those of the same 
Bex. One was made for the other. Those of 
the same sex may love, be kind to each other 
and all that; but the same complete satisfaction 
is not possible. One sex gives to the other what 
it lacks, but the same sex cannot do so ; it merely 
adds a little more either feminine or masculine 
love to that already existent in the person. One 
may add a little more hydrogen to an already 
existent volume of the gas, it is not changed, its 
latent qualities are not developed, but its volume 
alone is increased; but add some oxygen to it, 
its volume may not be increased but it is 
changed ; the chemical combination is a new sub- 
stance and each gas finds satisfaction in the 
other; each good by itself but more useful in 
combination. You were so much stronger than 
this girl ” 

“That girl 1 ” 

“Well, that, then,” and Don smiled, which also 
caused the woe-begone, indignant Nancy to do 
the same much against her will. “Go on,” she 
said, half petulantly, as if ashamed of her 
levity. “Than that girl, that you partly filled the 
longings of that girl’s nature, but not fully, 
and she partly satisfied yours, but only partly; 
had a man — that despised being — come along 
and claimed your aifections you would have 
done as she has, taken him in preference.” 

“Never! I should never have been so dis- 
honorable. I can’t see how you can accuse me 
of such conduct,” and Nancy shot an indignant 
glance at Don and then flung herself down on 
her pillow and hid her face. Don sat on quietly 


246 


Angelward 


wondering what this strange girl would do next. 
The clock on the dresser ticked on and Nancy 
still lay nursing her indignation, then slowly 
turning her head she looked at Don and said in 
a half sullen tone: ‘T suppose you despise me?’' 

“No, I do not; only I want you to be your 
old brave self. Miss Ellis has acted despic- 
ably.” 

“I should think so. Why didn’t she tell me, 
instead of leaving me to read it in a newspaper ! 
Horrid little rat!” and Nancy arose and pitched 
a pillow over the foot of the bed. “There she 
goes! I’m done with her and all mankind.” 

“No, you are only beginning to deal with 
mankind. Set to work and do something for 
mankind. Put some other object in her place. 
Forgive her first and you may be of use to her 
in after years.” 

“Never!” 

“Well, think it over. Do not pay attention to 
what people say. Act as if you knew 
nothing of the matter and they will drop it. 
Do not allow this to break you up.” 

“O, you are so good. Doctor! If any person 
ever told me anything derogatory about you I 
could not, would not, believe.” 

“Now don’t put too much faith in woman- 
kind again,” and Don smiled down on Nancy. 
“I am only human, too. Don’t fall in love with 
me.” 

“I can’t love,” and Nancy clutched her heart. 
“It’s cold as stone.” 

“Just wait till another stone strikes against 
it and see if a few sparks do not fly out.” 


'Angelward 


247 


“Well, put your hand to the first duty and 
your heart will cease to be stone. Now, will 
you ?” 

Little did Don think how near the duty was. 

“I will.” 


248 


Angelward 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

While Don had been up stairs with Nancy, an- 
other event had taken place down stairs which 
had thrown that part of the house and its occu- 
pants into great consternation. Smith, the old 
servant who had admitted Don, had returned 
to the kitchen to find Sally, the new cook, in 
great trouble, a trouble caused rather by physical 
suffering than moral shame. Smith gave her one 
look and said “Get up stairs. Pll tell Miss Lou- 
don on you. What she’ll say I can’t think. 
What’s the use of such as you looking for 
places? Ye’d better be in the ’Ospital. Ye’ll 
git yer walkin’ ticket from here right soon,” and 
with another scornful look Smith walked to- 
wards the sitting-room where the Misses Lou- 
don — “the Old Parties” whom Nancy was sup- 
posed to care for — were sitting. Miss Loudon, 
wrapped in a rug, was reclining in an invalid’s 
chair before the fire reading her morning’s por- 
tion from the prayer-book. She looked up as 
Smith approached her chair and querelously 
asked: “What’s the matter? Does the Doctor 
think that there is anything dangerous about 
Nancy? Any tiling infectious?” 

“I don’t know, ma’am; she hasn’t come down 
yet; but there’s trouble in the kitchen, ma’am.” 

“Why ! has the new cook left? Dear me ! what 
is one to do? Such a time as we do have!” 


Angelward 


249 

‘‘Yes, ma’am, that’s it; but it’s not her having 
left, but she’ll have to leave.” 

“Never, Smith! Coax her to stay.” 

“She’s sick, ma’am.” 

“Why ! what ails? You’d better call the Doctor 
in when she is going out and let her have a 
look at her. She must be only feigning. I don’t 
believe in women doctors, but I guess she’ll 
do for this.” 

“No, ma’am, there’s no feigning about it. She’s 
in a bad way. I sent her to bed, but ye’d better 
come and see her yerself.” 

“Impossible, Smith! How can you think of 
such a thing! You know that I never go to the 
kitchen. Caroline, you must go.” 

“No, indeed, I am too nervous this morning. 
I never slept a moment last night. I could 
not endure the sight of suffering. Where is 
Nancy?” 

“Did I not tell you that the child is ill in bed 
this morning.” 

“Young people have no business to be ill. 
Well, I can’t go.” 

“One of ye’d better come.” 

“Is it so serious as that. Smith? These people 
always make a fuss over nothing at all.” 

“Yes, ma’am. I fear in a short time.” 

“What do you mean. Smith? Speak out and 
do not stand there so stupid.” 

“Well, ma’am, I hates to tell you, but I’m 
sure,” and here Smith stooped and whispered in 
Miss Loudon’s ear. 

“Never, the wretched creature! The sooner 
out of the house the better. Call the ambulance. 


250 


Angelward 


I shall not have this. Tell Miss Nancy to get 
up at once, sick or not. I cannot take this re- 
sponsibility at my age. O, get me my smelling 
salts, Smith! Tuck in my rug. There’s my 
book! O, dear, dear me! I’m fainting. Open 
the window. Smith.” 

'‘Margaret, what a rumpus to be making over 
a sick girl ! Do calm yourself. You agitate me.” 

“If you were any use you’d help me. Smith, 
get Miss Nancy up. She hired the creature.” 

“Maybe, ma’am, the lady Doctor ’ud help us 
out.” 

“Just the one. Smith. You call her.” 

Just as Don had counselled Nancy to be brave 
and the latter had promised to do her duty, 
Smith bounded into the room and said: “Miss, 
will-you-be-so-kind-as-to-come-and-see-new cook 
as is ill? Miss Loudon’s so upset she can’t do 
anything and Miss Nancy here’s ill.” 

“No, I’m not, Smith. I’m cured. What’s 
up?” 

“Better let Miss — Doctor go,” and Smith 
closed the door on Nancy and followed Don, 
who had in the meantime followed in the direc- 
tion of a low wail of new-born humanity, and 
found herself in the room of the new cook. She 
glanced at the girl and the face seemed familiar, 
but she could not say where she had seen her. 
Walking hurriedly to the bedside, she saw at once 
that actions instead of words were needed. A 
young girl lay there and looked as if on the verge 
of death. A small, wailing mass of humanity in 
the shape of a newly-born infant lay in the bed. 
The girl slowly looked at Don and then close4 


Angelward 


251 


her eyes and sighed. Don recognised her des- 
perate condition and hurried to summon Smith; 
the latter was already at the door; giving her a 
few instructions she returned to the patient. 
The woman slowly began to revive. Nancy in 
the meantime had appeared at the door with a 
white, terrified face. The naturally strong girl 
had been so overcome by her own disappointment 
and then this strange awakening that she was 
almost useless; but Don recognized that action 
was the best thing for her and therefore gave 
her something to to do. Smith fussed around, 
muttering all sorts of direful invectives against 
“the trash that hired out in this country; but 
who’d hev thought it? I’d never hev. Miss 
Nancy, ye’d better hev yer eyes open nixt time.” 

As the woman slowly revived, Don, who was 
standing by her side, felt more than ever con- 
vinced that she had seen the girl before; but 
when? Then all of a sudden she remembered 
the girl who had called on her for help some 
months before on that dark, gloomy November 
night, who had gone forth with her partner in 
sin. It was strange that she had again met her. 
As the girl’s gaze met Don’s she turned her head 
away and hid her face in the pillows. Don drew 
Nancy aside and said; “They will have to re- 
main here for a few days at least.” 

“Who is the villian? I could shoot him!” 
Nancy snarled between her teeth. 

“Some one we little dream of. Find out if 
you can. She will not tell me. I have seen her 
before. I refused to aid her. He was waiting 
for her the evening that she called.” 


252 


Angelward 


‘‘Horrors!’’ 

“Yes, you may well say so. Well, do the best 
you can. This may be your first duty.” 

“A horrible one; but mine always are.” 

“Well, good-bye; I must run on.” As Don 
passed down the stairway she was met by Miss 
Loudon and also by the nervous Caroline, who, 
when they heard all the particulars, nearly went 
into hysterics. As she passed out of the front 
door and down the path, she said: “What a 
world! Disappointment and sin on all sides. 
When will people learn to live? They merely 
exist as worse than brutes, and all from a mis- 
taken idea of love.” 


Angelward 


253 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

*‘How do you do, Miss Loudon, and how is 
Miss Carrie?” 

“Poorly, indeed, as usual, though,” and Miss 
Caroline sighed. 

“Really, I am so sorry. You are indeed 
afflicted.” 

“I am the one to be pitied, Ralph. Such a 
day as I have had. First thing I found Nancy 
ill in bed.” 

“Indeed; why, I thought that Miss Nancy 
never was ill. I thought she ridiculed such.” 

“Well, this morning she succumbed.” 

“I am sorry to hear it; nothing infectious or 
or dangerous?” 

“O, no; she has recovered; but, Ralph, we 
have had a tragedy in the house.” 

“How exciting! Nobody killed, I hope?” | 

“No, worse than that.” ’ 

“Why, Miss Loudon, how can anything be 
worse? Man dreads his departure hence more 
than any other episode which may befall him., 
Anything more shocking I cannot conceive of.” 

“Ralph, you are ridiculous. We all have to 
come to that; but this is indeed shocking.” j 

“It must be if indeed it surpasses the other.’ 
Why I what is it ? For once I am interested.” 

“You will be horrified if I tell you, but you 


254 


Angelward 


are such an old friend and we must tell some 
one/’ 

"‘Why, yes! What are we here for if not to 
help one another, at least so says Miss Doctor. 
Do tell me? Nancy is not going to study medi- 
cine, is she?” 

'‘Margaret, you are becoming immodest in 
your old age. It will be out soon enough.” 

“Hush, Caroline 1 I am using my own discre- 
tion. Well, Ralph, you know that cook you and 
Nancy selected?” 

“Why, yes; the treasure with excellent refer- 
ences! Why, has she gone off with your valu- 
ables? Tragedy, indeed!” 

“Not at all. That were a small calamity. 
No, she is here; but she has turned out to be 
the vilest baggage conceivable.” 

“You don’t say so! Why, Miss Loudon, she 
came so highly recommended! I thought that 
you would be perfectly suited, but one can never 
tell.” 

“Well, you made a grand choice, I must say. 
I have no intention of opening a maternity hos- 
pital; and, Ralph, I consider you will have to 
help us out of this fix. What are we to do with 
the creature? One cannot turn her adrift.” 

“Why, no. Well, just make the best of it for 
a few days.” 

“Man like! How can we? I can’t stand the 
uproar of that wailing brat. No, she must be 
removed, and at once. I shall not tolerate it 
any longer. The idea of pouncing down on re- 
spectable people in this way. I wonder that 
you did not make more inquiries.” 


Angelward 


255 


“Why, I certainly did the best I could. I 
shall give up choosing help in the future. I 
never was intended for any laborious under- 
taking, but I thought I would follow out the 
Doctor’s advice. I strive to shake off my usual 
laziness and this is the result; the leopard might 
just as well attempt to change his spots as a 
Risdon his habits; it is born spotted and he is 
born lazy. Well, I can see no alternative but 
patience and forbearance; do you. Miss Carrie?” 

“I have not thought on the matter at all. I 
shall leave it all to Margaret and you. The Doc- 
tor says that I must not be annoyed.” 

“Miss Doctor would not say so; she considers 
bother and annoyance excellent alteratives.” 

“I have no faith in women doctors. They can- 
not understand a woman. What is the world 
coming to ?” 

“You must exert yourself.” 

“Never! I never have, nor never shall! 
Ralph Risdon, you know me well enough for 
that.” 

“You are hopeless. But this is a case for 
Christianity, charity. You see how the poor, 
fallen creature has been brought to your very 
door. Providence has strange, incomprehensible 
ways of making us do our duty.’ 

“Ralph, do stop! It sickens me to have you 
talk in this strain. It is not like you.” 

“But, Carrie, I am changing.” 

“Pshaw ! I do not believe it.” 

“O, but I am! I am getting an aim in life. 
Even Madame acknowledges the change in me. 


256 Angelward 

I acquiesced with one of her charitable schemes 
yesterday without grumbling.” 

“Really, how brave of. you!” 

“And then I spent the whole evening in test- 
ing cigars for the club.” 

“Quite a trial, I should judge for one who is 
so fond of the weed.” 

“Just the contrary, my dear Miss Loudon. 
Just imagine having to inhale all kinds of differ- 
ent flavors. Ugh! it was a horrible task! One 
has to do his duty, you know. The world is 
becoming so altruistic, and better be out of it 
than out of the fashion.” 

“But fashionable people are not so inclined.” 

“Indeed they are. You are behind the times, 
fair Carrie. Is not Nancy here of the fashion- 
able world, and she is becoming so self-sacri- 
ficing that one at least expects a golden crown 
for &r.” 

“Fads and nonsense, that’s all. I have no pa- 
tience with young people nowadays.” 

“No, because you are out of the fashion. 
Why, here comes Miss Doctor as blooming as 
ever!” 

“She makes me nervous. I do not like such 
robust young women. They set one’s nerves on 
edge. I suppose she is coming to see that ciea- 
ture,” and Miss Caroline looked daggers at 
some absent person. “Dear me, it is cold! Will 
summer never come?” 

“Summer always exists in the hearts of the 
good.” 

“Ralph, you are simply ridiculous today.” 

“You do not admire me in my new role?” 


AngelwaRd 


257 

‘‘No, I should think not. An old fool is al- 
ways the worst. You are getting giddy and 
childish.” 

“And is it not good to have a young heart ?” 

“In a young body; but not in one as old as 
yours.” 

* 5jc HS * ♦ 

Don walked up the stairs, at the head of which 
she was met by Nancy. “O, I am so glad that 
you have come, for I have some information for 
you!” 

“Is that so?” 

“This afternoon I managed to worm it out of 
her. She was very reticent at first. They al- 
ways do seem to want to shelter the other party. 
How they can I do not know! I would expose 
him, ugh! Whom do you think it is?” 

“One we would little suspect.” 

“Yes, indeed. I never had much respect for 
him, but I never would have suspected him of 
this. It is ” 

“Never!” exclaimed Don. “Why!” 

“It is. Put two and two together and when 
you come to think of it is this not confirmatory 
proof?” and Nancy held up the child for Don 
to look at it. “The very spit of him. I shall 
show him up if he does not handsomely provide 
for her. If he wants to be a Papa he shall pay 
for the privilege. Love, faugh! Man’s love 
seems to go like fits and starts. A fig for it!” 

“It is too often put off and on like his hat, 
while woman’s clings even tighter than her skin ; 
but this man does not know the meaning of love. 
What do you intend to do 


258 


Angelward 


‘‘Confront him with the fact/' 

“All right. Well, good-bye for the present," 
and Don walked down to the door, and just as 
she was passing out Mr. Risdon came from the 
sitting-room. “Out on errands of tender mer- 
cies, Miss Doctor?" 

“Yes." 

“I hope that your patient is better. It is not 
often that Miss Nancy is laid low." 

“Miss Webster is quite better." 

“O, I am so glad to hear it ! I was afraid that 
it might be something catching. I have a horror 
of such." 

“Most things are catching." 

“You do not say so!" 

“Certainly." 

“Why ! what for example ?" 

“It would take too long to enumerate them all. 
I am going East to-day." 

“O ! are you ? Well, I shall see you again be- 
fore long. Your prescription is curing me." 


Angelward 


259 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

Four days after the events recorded, Don was 
walking up the path to Miss Loudon's front en- 
trance when she was overtaken by Mr. Risdon. 
“Good-day, Miss Doctor. I said that I should 
meet you again .soon. What, is Nancy not bet- 
ter yet?” 

“I am not attending Miss Webster at present.” 

“O ! is that so ? I have been laboring under a 
delusion then. I have not seen the dear girl for 
some time and I fancied her an invalid.” 

“She recovered quite quickly.” 

“No doubt, under your good care.” Smith 
admitted them, telling Mr. Risdon that the two 
old ladies had gone for a drive, but that they 
would return before long and would he wait. 

“Yes, I shall. Maybe Miss Nancy and Miss 
Doctor will keep me company; that is, if the 
latter does not demand all Miss Nan’s attention.” 

“I am not calling on Miss Webster,” and Don 
walked quickly up stairs and was met by Nancy 
with the baby in her arms. “Good, I am glad 
that you have come! That is old Risdon! He 
is very fond of calling at present. I am sure 
that the Old Parties enjoy his company. It is 
too much to last, though. Maybe he would like 
to see this,” and Nancy held the child up. “Come 
down, I may require your assistance to enter- 
tain him.” 


26 o 


Angelward 


‘^You are a host in yourself; but I shall come/’ 

‘‘Why, Miss Nancy! and what new role do I 
see you in ? Why, you are droll ! Been borrow- 
ing les enfants in the district? What a boon co 
poor, tired mothers. You are becoming more 
philanthropic even than Madame.” 

“Necessity has forced me to start a creche in 
the house.” 

“O! Ah!! Indeed!!! Why so? This is 
something new. I should have thought that your 
revered aunts would not tolerate such.” 

“Necessity knows no law.” 

“Dear me, how tiresome ! Well, I never allow 
necessity to govern me. It is a tyrant.” 

“We are not all so fortunate.” 

“How can you be bothered with that?” and 
Ralph Risdon looked disgustedly at the infant, 
which lay so contentedly in Nancy’s arms, suck- 
ing its thumb. 

“Some people in this world have to be both- 
ered; all cannot escape.” 

“You are very contrary to-day. Everything 
I say you disagree with. I think I shall have 
to leave.” 

“Pray, do not. It is rather interesting to dis- 
agree. I knew that we should to-day. I have a 
presentiment founded on fact.” 

“Are you becoming a spiritualist or mind- 
reader ?” 

“No, a pure fact and reason reader. Mr. Ris- 
don,” and Nancy looked intently and fiercely at 
him, “I wish to have a most serious conversation 
with you.” 

“Prav! why? Please don’t. I am not in the 


Angelward 261 

mood fof such,” and he fidgetted in his chair. 
‘T^ifc is too short for such.” 

”It is a greater pity that life were not shorter 
for some people.” 

''Ah, Nancy, you are enigmatical to-day! I 
cannot understand you.” 

"You do not wish to. Just listen to what I 
have to .say and then you will not think that I 
am speaking in riddles.” 

“Well,” and puckering his mouth and looking 
much annoyed, he leaned back in his chair. “I 
suppose that I am in your clutches to-day. Fire 
ahead and have it over.” This girl had always 
annoyed him. 

“What I have to say is nothing more nor less 
than this,” and Nancy shot an indignant glance 
at him and stopped to nerve herself for the rest 
of her sentence, “that the necessity of me being 
creche-tender is due to your fault alone.” 

Without changing a muscle he replied in an 
insolent tone : “I do not understand you. Could 
I help getting such a huzzy into the house ? Am 
I supposed to know all the vile baggages of Te- 
cumseh ?” 

“Evidently you are acquainted with more of 
them than you care to have us know of.” 

"I — I — I do not understand,” and he bit the 
end of his moustache. 

“You do.” 

“I — I — I do not. In my kindness to you I 
have happened to be taken in like yourself. The 
girl came well recommended.” 

“Yes; well, you knew too much about those 
references.” 


262 


Angelward 


‘‘I — I — I do not understand you. Never 
again shall I take the least interest in your do- 
mestic affairs.” 

'‘I shall hope not. Well, Mr. Risdon, we may 
as well understand each other. You knew all 
about this girl and you wanted to get her a place 
and you chose us as probably being the most 
gullible. Now, I am determined that you shall 
do your duty to her.” 

“Miss Webster, I do not at all comprehend 
your meaning. I am in no way responsible for 
this vile creature.” 

“You are not ! Look at this confirmatory bit,” 
and without more ado Nancy threw the baby 
into his lap. “Isn’t it the picture of its daddy? 
Sweet little pet. So like its papa.” Then stand- 
ing before him she said in cold, haughty tones: 
“Can you deny the striking resemblance?” 

“You fool !” he growled, “take it away. I 
know nothing of it.” Lifting the child, which 
was crying lustily now, she said: “You lie! 
You do know and you know that I speak the 
truth. Dr. Fenwick is as certain as I am.” 

“Damn the women!” and he picked up his 
cane and hat. “I have had enough for to-day of 
such insults.” 

“You shall hear me out,” and Nancy stood 
with her back to the door. “I shall blaze it all 
around the town, and then where shall our ‘im- 
maculate Ralph’ be? You recognize your posi- 
tion ; do the honorable thing. I should like to 
see you in the Penitentiary. Vile wretch ! Piun- 
pered, petted ornaments of society!” 

“H’m! I think that you have gone quite far 


Angelward , 263 

enough. Do you know that you are addressing 
a gentleman?” 

‘‘No, I do not know it; but I do know that I 
am addressing a low, sneaking brute. Our gar- 
dener is miles above you. No, I shall make no 
secret of this.” 

“Am I responsible for all the women who 
make fools of themselves?” 

“Not at all, but for those whom you make 
fools of. What business have you knowing this 
girl at all? Your social positions are not at all 
near each other, but you strive to place yourself 
on a par with her. You have to respect the wo- 
men of your own class, at least the majority of 
them; but by sweet words and bribes you cause 
those of a lower class to fall. Gold and honeyed 
hypocrisy have always allured them. Hence- 
forth I may acknowledge you in public, but never 
again shall I do so in any other respect. I re- 
gard you as a moral leper. You strove to cast 
suspicion aside by coming here so frequently of 
late. You are stealthy in your vileness. I sent 
my aunts out on purpose this afternoon, and now 
if you do your duty by these two I shall remain 
silent; but otherwise all Tecumseh shall know 
of it.” 

“And do you think that will injure me? I 
shall only be more interesting.” 

“In the eyes of those whose opinion is worth 
regarding.” 

“In the eyes of women with a purpose, I sup- 
pose,” and he looked insolently at her. Ralph 
Risdon hated Nancy just now. Her remarks cut 


264 


Angelward 


him, but he did not intend her to know that they 
did ; he was not man enough for that. 

“Dr. Fenwick and I are done with you.” 

“Society in Tecumseh could not exist without 
Ralph Risdon.” 

“It had better go to pieces then ; for such a 
rotten structure is not to be tolerated. I would 
that we could weed out such as you.” 

“All you would have left would be a few 
sneaking parsons and milksops.” 

“What a confession! I should be ashamed to 
make it. Well, it shows you as less a man than 
I thought you. No wonder you society men dis- 
like the woman who thinks.” 

“A pretty sort of knowledge for a woman to 
have.” 

“A painful but necessary kind.” 

“Women ought to be lovely and brainless. We 
take care of them.” 

“Stop, Ralph Risdon! I have heard enough. 
^Take care of them!’ Yes, perhaps, in the 
higher ranks, but degrade them in the lower. 
How can I feel happy in my position when I 
know that the men I associate with are degrad- 
ing other women? Never! It is impossible! 
We have too long pampered and petted such as 
you for the sake of financial marriage and your 
attractice company in society. Long ago we 
should have branded you as social lepers and 
sent you forth to earn your living outside the 
city gates by the sweat of your brow. Talk of 
a woman’s duty being to be lovely and enter- 
taining to such as you. The veriest Delilah were 
too good for you.” 


Angelward 265 

“Come, come, Nancy! you are a regular spit- 
fire.” 

“Henceforth I am Miss Webster to you. All 
I desire of you is that you will do your duty to 
these. She must leave here before long. I think 
I can find a home for her, but you must pay the 
expenses.” 

He calmly folded his arms and looked down 
complacently on the indignant upturned face of 
the girl. He was one of those persons whom 
anger makes calm. Nancy knew this and it 
angered her. If he had become wrathy she 
would have felt surer of accomplishing her pur- 
pose; but accomplish it she intended to. Slowly 
speaking in a lazy drawl he said: “Ah, taking 
things into your own hands, I see I Well, I fancy 
I may use my own discretion.” He twirled his 
moustache and looked amusedly at her. 

“I suppose you may, but it may be at the ex- 
pense of your reputation. I have nothing more 
to say. The old ladies will not return until 
seven,” and Nancy left the room. Ralph Risdon 
did not feel comfortable; in fact, so annoyed 
that he remained standing with crossed arms, 
one hand twirling his moustache and his eyes on 
the floor. 

“D — n that infernal woman Doctor! Nan 
would never have thought of this but for her. 
She’s always been ’cute, but these girls do not 
know us men. We are done for if women get a 
little knowledge. They can’t reason, they can’t 
see that a man has to have some license. It is 
all right for women to go to church, pray and 
sing hymns, but we can’t do it. This is a kettle- 


266 


Angelward 


of-fish, for Nan’s as good as her word. Well, 
this will not help me to play that game of whist 
with Ross,” and he languidly walked out of the 
room. “Provide for those two! No, I can’t 
afford it. It is monstrous to think of it. I am 
losing heavily enough now. Provide for that 
brat! Lord, how many more would be cropping 
up? It will grow up to curse me. Impossible! 
Well, 'sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.’ 
Nan will not turn them out, so I may as well 
enjoy life while I can.” 


Angelward 


267 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

“Are you going out, Dr. Don T' 

“No, I have just returned. Come in and let 
us have a cosy hour. We have not had a tallc 
for some time, not by this fire, anyway.” 

“No, that is so, and I would rather talk to you 
here than anywhere else. It is so quiet and rest- 
ful. Well, I have gotten that business settled. 
He will provide for them until Sally is strong 
enough to take another place, and he will pro- 
vide for the child until he is tweleve years old. 
I had an awful time wringing it out of him, but 
I have gotten it in black and white. I could not 
trust him without. She leaves to-morrow. This 
has been an experience for me. I think that I 
shall not grumble any more at my duties. This 
has taken my mind off that other affair.” 

“Yes, every ill has its bane.” 

“But this affair has sickened me with mankind. 
I feel like lying down under a shady tree and 
dying. Life is a horrible grimace, anyway; 
grinning skulls leering at one from all sides, 
dressed in all sorts of beautiful garments, but 
ghosts all the same. I feel like being a nun and 
closeting myself up in a convent.” 

“Impossible!' 

“Perhaps. What a comfort, though! I am 
sickened with society as it is. I never want to 


268 


Angelward 


adorn myself again for an evening’s so-called 
enjoyment. I have lost all taste for it. Imagine 
adorning one’s self for such as Ralph Risdon, 
to be smiled and leered at, and then the next we 
know he is off with some wench we would not 
own. It is dreadful. No, I am done with society. 
I shall dress in the plainest clothes. Why do 
some women dress as they do ?” 

‘‘To make themselves attractive and beautiful. 
We see the same in the lower forms of animal 
life, only in the other sex; there the female is 
the plain, unadorned one.” 

“Why the difference?” 

“There must be some source of attractiveness 
on each side. With the lower animals the female 
is quite dependent on the male for her subsistence 
and therefore she does not seek a union for the 
the sake of her bread and butter ; but he to win 
her must be himself attractive in outward ap- 
pearance. With us it is different; the civilized 
human female is dependent to a great extent — 
and has been more so until lately — on the male 
for her subsistence; therefore to attract him she 
makes herself attractive. Sex attraction and se- 
lection go hand in hand, and rightly so ; but 
there are different forms of attractiveness; 
physical beauty has for too long predominated ; 
the inner, more lasting soul attractiveness has 
been neglected. Women seek to please by skin 
beauty, which fades; but a better day is coming 
when soul beauty will attract their males to them, 
and then Heaven will sanction such mating. 
Woman has ruined her figure, destroyed her 
health and happiness, all in a mad endeavor to 


Angelward 


269 

please by physical charms. To such an extent 
has this idea of physical beauty advanced that 
if a man marry a plain-looking woman the world 
cannot understand why he did it. They regard 
it as a sacrifice; for the world is so enslaven in 
mistaken conceptions of physical beauty, happi- 
ness and love that it cannot conceive of a higher 
spiritual form of beauty, happiness and love.'* 

^‘Do you think that a woman can retain her 
individuality if she marry, or if she desires to 
do so must she remain single; be in other words 
an 'old maid’?’" 

"You have asked a difficult question. Do you 
think that by Nature she was intended to re- 
main single? 

" 'Nothing in this world is single. 

All things by a law Divine 
In one another’s being mingle, 

Why not mine in thine ?’ ” 

"Yes, that is true, beautifully, poetically, theo- 
rectically true; but one cannot be sure of her 
mate. People are so different after one marries 
them.” 

"Yes, it is different; many do fail in the at- 
tempt to seek their completion. I think if one 
do meet her Heaven-intended mate she will not 
lose her individuality. There will be such a 
blending that each will be perfect in the other. 
No jealousy which might cause one party to 
place obstacles in the other’s way will exist, nor 
on the other hand no blind love which sees no 
fault in one’s mate will be present. There ought 


270 


Angelward 


to be such a blending that the thought of two 
individuals will not be taken into account, but 
one perfected whole alone. The idea of the two 
distinct individuals does away with completion. 
In this case a woman must lose her distinct in- 
dividuality, but no more than man does. You 
meant when a woman would sink into perfect 
oblivion as far as her talents are concerned, and 
when man alone would shine? Such a union is 
no union at all. It is submersion of one and 
emersion of the other instead of the making of 
a new article. Oxygen alone is oxygen, hydro- 
gen alone is hydrogen, but hydrogen plus oxygen 
is water. The ideal union is not often attained 
at present, but I have met a few such unions, 
and they were happy ones. Most people take 
the view of the case that when a woman retains 
her individuality she lords it over her husband, 
who is some weak creature. This woman is a 
more-to-be-pitied object than her sister who has 
lost her individuality. There is a battle being 
carried on at present between the sexes, a need- 
ful one in many respects; but as in all times of 
strife excesses are often being indulged in. Wo- 
man has been so repressed and hemmed in by 
restrictions and customs that in her efforts to 
claim freedom she is apt to overstep the bounds. 
When she is freer and allowed to associate with 
man on a commoner plane she will understand his 
place and her own better. She has been in 
exactly the same position as regards him as her 
sisters of Turkey are now in. As well put a 
woman behind a gauze veil and hide her from 
man as deny her the freedom of associating 


Angelward 


271 


equally in his enterprises. Ours is only a more 
extreme view of the case. We are only a little 
higher in the scale. As some Mohammedan 
women have burst their barriers, so have some 
American. Evolution is plainly seen throughout 
every department of life. Man rises through his 
struggles. The grandest, noblest battles he 
fights are with himself. Moral evolution is the 
highest type. Some would do away with man’s 
battles, heap them on the broad shoulders of a 
Providence ; others would screen their loved 
ones ; parents fear for their children ; but as well 
expect muscles to develop during non-use as 
mind and soul under non-temptation.” 

“Why do we pray ‘lead us not into tempta- 
tion’ ?” 

“It ought rather to be ‘lead us not into yielding 
to temptation.’ ” 

“I never get any answers to my pra^^ers.” 

“Perhaps not in the sense you expect ; but does 
it not do you good to pour forth your feelings, 
to give utterance to your thoughts, even if it is 
to no one but yourself? The best men may not 
require stated intervals for prayer, for prayer is 
only thought, and all sincere persons’ thoughts 
are prayers which are aspiring Angelward. A 
bad man’s thoughts fall earthward, devil ward. If 
one’s thoughts are not all good ones is it not 
better for him to be placed in an environment in 
which for a short time he may have Angelward 
aspirations? Such moments of hypnotic influ- 
ence cannot but make him better; for that influ- 
ence will have its effect. If one is living amid 
squalid surroundings and he close his eyes and 


272 Angelward 

allows his mind to feast on a beautiful landscape, 
is he not refreshed? So it is in religion; tear 
one’s self away from sinful associations and 
think of a sinless state and one is also refreshed. 
All religions are nothing but suggested, trance- 
like, hypnotical state, somd more than others. 
In some the subjective mind rules, in others the 
objective; but in the most beneficial these two 
minds counter-balance. The soul requires reme- 
dies as well as the body, religious hypnotical 
therapeutics are as necessary as physical ones. 
When we are perfect, church-going, prayer-meet- 
ings and Sunday schools will be things of the 
past relics of barbarism from which we have 
evolved; but now they are necessary whilst we 
are barbarians.” 

“Well, I have gotten some more food for di- 
gesting, and I thank you. Are you going to the 
Pan-American ?” 

“I hardly think so.” 

“I wish you could go with me. I expect to 
go next week. Tra-la for the present.” 


Angelward 


273 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

It was the twelfth of July, a cool, bright sum- 
mer’s day, one of those on which one attempts 
to forget the dog-days and at the same time 
banishes all thoughts of cold winter; one of 
those days which come to us in the middle of 
the summer in the same to-be-appreciated man- 
ner as an oasis in the desert to a tired, weary, 
thirsty traveler. Don was revelling in this day, 
and after her office hours were over and her 
calls had been paid she mounted her bicycle and 
wheeled out into the country. She loved the 
country; it was full of sweet memories for her; 
every sound was sweet music, and especially 
sweet after the noise and din of the main street 
of a busy town. The landscape was a continu- 
ous picture gallery. Turner, Leighton, Landseer, 
were all before her. She turned down a side 
road, dismounted, laid her wheel tenderly down, 
for she loved it — ^it was a part of her nature to 
love what belonged to her — and sat down under 
the shade of a large maple tree. She threw her 
hat to one side, clasped her hands behind her 
head and leaned back against the tree’s trunk. 
‘*0, this is Heaven! What a blessing that one 
can have even a snatch of such perfect enjoy- 
ment! Not a discordant sound to be heard, 
everything working harmoniously; just like 


274 


Angelward 


Harty's conception of the future world. It is a 
lovely idea, but is it so or is it only all a mis- 
conception? Shall he live again, or is my mate- 
rialistic idea the correct one? If he is correct, 
then all forms of life will be reincarnated ; not 
man alone. I think that I am right. What odds 
does it make? This might just as well end all 
for me. Oblivion is comfortable. As long as 
the human race continues to evolve to the perfect 
state — ‘Angelward’ — what need is there of me 
living after my task here is accomplished? Ac- 
cording to his view we have tasks in the future, 
where we go on evolving ourselves and act as 
guides to poor earth creatures. Who are my 
guides then? Are they looking down on me 
now? It is all queer; but the main thing is to 
do right here below and let come what may after- 
wards. We ought not to live for the sake of a 
future reward — and yet is our right living not 
all for future betterment, if not of us, of those 
who follow? — that is bribery pure and simple; 
but do right because it is right to do so. Harty 
has some strange ideas. I cannot agree with him 
in his matrimonial views; they are partly ideal- 
istic and yet I do not care for them. I think 
that he is mistaken and may be overlooking a 
source of his highest development and duty in 
a mistaken idea of altruism. He evidently re- 
gards matrimony as alone for the propagation 
of the species. I do not. It is indeed an essen- 
tial of it, but not all of it. I think his idea is 
that two kindred souls, who love each other, may 
love just as well in single blessedness as if 
united; that the union is only to allow of the 


Angelward 


275 


legal production of children; now they may 
love ununited, but not as they may if brought 
into daily contact — ‘familiarity breeds contempt’ 
— but only when there is not perfect love. Two 
mated by love cannot but blossom and develop in 
each other’s company. Their children will draw 
them together. No, matrimony is not alone for 
the production of children, but for the unifying 
of two souls; and as for not caring for young 
children, I am disgusted with that. We are not 
one; there is a jarring note. I instinctively feel 
it, and yet we have so much in common that it 
seems hard; but no, Donalda Fenwick, you must 
tramp this world’s thorny, stony pathway alone; 
you have so far, and so much farther and farther 
must you go alone. ‘As ships that pass in the 
night,’ so are those whom you meet. You do not 
meet them for naught; but they are not for you 
alone. It is hard,” and Don clasped her hands 
more tightly and looked up at the bright blue 
sky flecked with white clouds. Great cumu- 
lus masses of white condensed vapor, moun- 
tains of fleecy foam hung suspended in the sea 
of ether, as if just ready to drop, the icebergs 
of the ethereal ocean. Will the airships of the 
future have as much dread in passing among 
them as our greyhounds of to-day among our 
icebergs? The insect life around Don kept on 
humming its continual refrain, a little spider-bird 
sat on the rail fence beside her and a great 
brown beetle walked most unceremoniously over 
her ; great black ants seemed to find her a splen- 
did campus for a game of “I spy,” and an occa- 
sional wasp hovered near ; but Don was “en rap- 


276 


Angelward 


port, with them all and allowed them to have 
their own way and enjoy themselves at their 
pleasure. A great black crow hovered overhead 
and then flew off to join some of his clerical 
brethren. The breeze gently ruffled the leaves 
of the trees and blew Don’s hair from her face. 
It was so refreshing after the hot days which 
had just gone by. She felt like another creature ; 
environment does influence us to an unappreci- 
able degree. Don felt Heavenly good here. ‘T 
believe that I shall be a tramp for the rest of my 
days. They must have good times, for after all 
sleeping in a soft downy bed and eating at a 
well-appointed table are not all the requisites for 
happiness. A dry crust out here were prefer- 
able to pound cake in some homes, and what 
more lovely bed-chamber than this one of Na- 
ture? True, it is not always like this, but the 
other times come only as accidents. No, tramp- 
ing is not too bad. No wonder men tired with 
life or born tired take to it with such adaptability. 
One cannot but feel ‘en rapport’ with it. It is 
natural and the lives we live are not; they are 
horribly artificial, a perfect strain after fashion. 
I believe that I was born to be a tramp. If I 
only had the means I would tramp this earth 
from one end to the other and draw lessons 
from it. A lazy life maybe, but a happy one. I 
often think what is the use of trying to help 
man on his upward climb. One’s meed is only 
kicks and blows ; but this is pessimistic and such 
thoughts will not do out here. No, Donalda, 
you must struggle on, accept this man’s love ; for 
we did acknowledge once that we do love, as one 


Angelward 


277 


of the sweets of life; but you must not rely on 
it alone. It is not yours alone, it is for the world 
at large also. You think his duty perhaps lies in 
marrying and producing children like himself 
and thus propagating good by the surest, most 
rational methods of evolution, the succession of 
transmitted good” Don mused on, sometimes 
half aloud to herself, at other times silently. 
The gentle country air was beginning to have a 
soporific effect on her, the humming of the insect 
orchestra was becoming more subdued, the song 
of the breeze more faintly heard and only by 
blinky glimpses did she notice the landscape. 
Just as she was passing into the Land of Nod 
she reopened her eyes wide and gazed in wonder 
rapt at a great white cumulus cloud which was 
lighted up with a golden sheen. “Lovely,” she 
whispered. “Golden Hope, but there it’s turn- 
ing pink and soon will be gray! Clouds do 
change so quickly, they are fleeting things, so is 
life. It is hope, then twilight. O!” and Don’s 
head sank a little lower and she was on the verge 
of dreamland if she had not already been there 
since she first sat under the tree. “We are such 
things as dreams are made of. Life appears to 
be one vast delirium, maybe a happy one, maybe 
a sad one, maybe a terrible one. The world seems 
at times like one vast madhouse, every one of us 
a lunatic pursuing some idle illusion, haunted by 
some hallucination, led on by some delusion, 
taken possession of by some obsession; we only 
in minor degrees of insanity. Who of us all is 
altogether sane ? There is not one,” 


278 


Angelward 


HER DREAM. 

It was early morning in a far-off sphere, the 
Land of Love away off in the clouds ; a land away 
above the ken of man’s mind’s eye or his physical 
eye; a land where love reigns supreme, where 
work is done for love and by love ; no hatred of 
duty or disinclination for labor exists ; it is the 
sphere of Supreme Love, the home of cupids, of 
angels, of all messengers of God; a land ruled by 
Love Divine, where faction is unknown, for love 
rules the act and love is law Divine. The Master of 
this sphere arose from his couch, not as man here 
below does with a yawn and a dread of the day’s 
labor, but fresh, radiant, free from all earth- 
bound fettering ailments — a spirit perfect. He 
was a radiant Being, his clear, ethereal Being 
radiated light from his soul; Love enshrouded 
him and glistened through his thin, diaphanous 
raiment, which was cast like a silvery sheen 
around him. There was strength in his form, 
but the strength which does not scorn to be 
gentle, the gentle, graceful strength of Love. 
Love must be strong; it is no mean, maudlin 
thing. As he arose in all his glorious, radiant, 
silvery, splendid perfection from his rose- 
wreathed cloud couch, a circle made of silvery- 
gray clouds tinted here and there with rosy 
streaks of Aurora, he summoned his cupids from 
their airy-fairy cloud cots and gave them their 
love labors for the day. They came at once 
and smiled sweetly on the Master, and joining 
hands raised their Heavenly voices in adoration. 
Every tiny cloud vibrated to the delicate Heaven- 


Angelward 279 

ly song, and then every one calmly awaited his 
message. 

“You, Rose, go to that poor sick child in that 
tenement and soothe her sleepless brow and carry 
sweet thoughts to her weary mind.” 

“Yes, Master,” and the tiny, rose-colored cupid 
swiftly and gently floated through the pale gray- 
ish rose-tinted clouds earthward. 

“Hope,” and here the Master addressed a 
rose-tinted cherub clad in a golden veil-like rai- 
ment through which the rose-hue of hope radi- 
ated, her little wings glistening with gold and 
her golden hair waving in the gentle ethereal 
vibrations, a lovely sight. “Go to that true wo- 
manly woman and tell her all is right, that 
she will meet her twin soul ; that there is a soul’s 
completion for her. She may doubt you, but 
she must hope on. She cannot throw hope aside, 
for she is brave and will hope.” 

Then for a moment the Master looked over 
his remaining cupids and seemed as if in doubt, 
but then again his brow cleared and he was again 
radiant. “I have a good, true, lonely soul down 
there to whom I wish to send perfect happiness. 
He fancies that he cannot find it on earth; that 
he must wait until he comes here, and he, once 
in a while, send his soul to us for comfort; but 
he must find it down below for a time. If he is 
to do his work there he must find his love-mate 
there, not here. You, Earth Brightener, go to 
him. He fancies the earth uncongenial to him, 
but you must bring him to his mate, and then 
earth will have Heavenly charms for him. Go 
hence and do your Love Labor.” 


28o 


Angelward 


“Yes, Master dear,” and the last-named cupid 
swiftly sped earthward. He overtook Hope, and 
taking her hand he said: “Beloved sister, I, too, 
am going earthward. Hope on, we shall mate 
them yet. Good-bye.” The gray-clad, rose- 
tinted Earth Brightener sped on and alighted in 
the office of a fair-haired young man, who was 
reading up the technique of an operation for the 
following day; but he could not concentrate his 
mind, so he threw down the surgical text-book 
in disgust and walked up and down the room, 
saying to himself: “What ails me lately? I 
try to think and all I can think of is the Woman 
Physician. That is all well and good in its place, 
but I cannot afford to have my thoughts so 
distracted from their proper course. I never did 
before and I must not now. Pm not in love, 
and yet I am as unsettled as any hobble-de hoy 
in his first amours. No, I won’t have it. I en- 
joy her letters, she is just splendid, but I have no 
time for love. No, I have a destiny to work out 
independent of it; but, hang it all, say as I will, 
that I shall not allow my affections to get the 
upper hand of me, they seem to. I must ask my 
spirit guides for advice in this matter. I must 
conquer this matter.” 

In her dream Don saw first the great white 
mass of cumulus cloud, then it became enveloped 
in a golden veil, then it was rose-tinted, and 
finally it became grayish. It hung as it were by its 
own weight in the air. As an iceberg is often the 
habitat of aquamarine animals, so to Don these 
cloudbergs seemed to be inhabited by some ethe- 
real beings. When this great white mass first 


Angelward 


281 


appeared in the sky it seemed to be uninhabited, 
but a little later a golden-clad cupid darted to it 
on her way through the sky, and now lay in its 
soft, gilded folds. Hope ever reflects itself. 
After she had lain quietly for some time she 
peeped over one of the golden billows, and as 
she did so a small, gray, rose-tinted cupid floated 
into one of the golden folds. He was very rosy 
and the mass took on its rosy hue. Hope 
stretched out her hand to her companion and 
Earth Brightener said in a sweet, musical voice : 
*‘How rosy you are ! Good tidings, sweet one ?” 

“Better than usual, dear one; but he is not 
touched yet. I have been doing another earth 
mission. I kissed a sweet little lassie on my way 
up as she lay asleep under a tree, dreaming of 
him.’^ 

“O! that is my dear sweet creature; look!” 
and Hope, taking her companion’s hand looked 
down lovingly on Don, who dreamed that she 
dreamed this beautiful dream; then it seemed 
as if there was a space of time, during which 
she had no recollection of dreaming, and then 
she again became conscious of again dreaming, 
and she dreamed that she walked into Harty’s 
office, and as he advanced to meet her as a new 
patient, he scanned her face as was evidently his 
way, and before she could say, “Dr. Hartz, 1 
have come to consult you,” he exclaimed, “Why ! 
Well!! Dr. Fenwick!!!” They both laughed, 
and she had told him how she had intended to 
play the patient; but he by his intuition had 
spoiled all her plans. His sister had then ap- 
peared, and on Don telling her of her disappoint- 


282 


Angelward 


ed plans, she said: “O, he is dreadful! He 
knows everything.” They had a long conversa- 
tion and at its conclusion had taken hands and 
had flown off to a great, white, gilded, rosy- 
tinted, gray cloud mass, to dwell forever with 
the spirits. Don was just about to say, ‘‘O, 
Harty I you were right. There is a spirit-world,” 
when a fly lit on her nose and awakened her. 
She lifted her hand to drive it away, then opened 
her sleepy eyelids and saw that the day was 
drawing to a close. “O, dear ! I have been asleep, 
I do declare! Dear me! what o’clock is it? I 
never intended to sleep, but it is so delightfully 
cool out here. A quarter of eight! Why, I shall 
have to fly back to noise and din! That was a 
pretty dream, but dreams are a farce.” 

Don rode home and resumed her duties and 
forgot Harty for a time, and he returned to his 
reading and tried to forget her. Were there 
spiritual forces at work? 


Angelward 


283 


CHAPTER XXXVIIL 

Don had just returned from the hospital and 
was removing her hat, when the office door 
opened and an elderly man walked in. O, Uncle 
Ted! Where did you spring from? You nearly 
scared me out of my senses. This is unex- 
pected.” 

“Dosen’t it always happen? Well, you might 
say you are glad to see an old fellow I” 

“Of course I am. This is just too lovely of 
you.” 

“Well, I am on my way to the ‘Pan.’ Have 
you been?” 

“No. I do not think that I shall go.” 

“You had better pack up and go with me.” 

“No, Pm afraid I can’t. I cannot quite afford 
it now, and then my work.” 

“Afford it! What’s that? It won’t cost you 
a sou, and as for work, what business has a 
young girl like you with tied apron-strings ; 
but how are you getting on, anyway? Haven’t 
tired of it yet? Haven’t taken the first good 
man, as your Scotchman advised? It does beat 
all the perversity of you.” 

“O, I am doing very well ; but I cannot afford 
to spend anything on luxuries. No, I am single 
yet. Good men are scarce.” 

“Or else somebody is saucy. How about that 


284 


Angelward 


side of the question? Well, until you can do 
better, come on and spend a single blessedness 
honeymoon with an old bachelor. I want a com- 
panion, and you are the best one I know of. 
If you can put up with me, I can with you; but 
it does beat the Dutch that no man has picked 
you up yet. I would, uncle and all, if I were 
not so damned old. Age is an affliction; but 
maybe you are better off as you are. We men 
are nothing but a lot of selfish old sticks to 
boast of at the best. Gad, I wish I were young, 
though! A man born before his time is like a 
fish out of water.” 

“Were there no women in your day?” 

“Heaps of them; but not your kind.” 

“You have kissed the Blarney Stone.” 

“Not a bit; but, Don, you are blooming. I 
never saw you looking better. There’s some- 
thing in the wind. Out with it. Don’t put the 
blinders on the old horse. Now, come, confess 
right up and tell an old fellow, who has a bit of 
young heart still left, about this happy young 
devil. Gad, I envy him I” 

“I would if there was anything to tell; but, 
honor bright, there isn’t.” 

“No! Swear true, H. B. sure?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, I shan’t prod any deeper. You always 
were honest, even if you ‘were deep.’ Gad, but 
your Aunt Harriet had a time trying to fathom 
you ! She’s a corker for meddling, but even she 
is improving. Well, medicine seems to suit you. 
I don’t know but that you are better off as you 
are. Take my advice and remain as you arc. 


Angelward 


285 

Marriage is a lottery. I am just as well off as t' 
other fellows. Well, will you come? We shan’t 
stay long if you do not wish to. We may as well 
see something of it, though. I can’t go alone, 
at least I don’t want to. That’s the worst of 
being a bachelor. It is something to have even 
a dog tagging at your heels.” 

‘T don’t play dog-at-heels, thank you,” and 
Don looked mischievously at this old uncle whom 
she loved so dearly. 

‘‘You don’t! Well, come then, and look after 
a poor old fellow, who will run at your heels. 
I may require a pill or two. Where’s that young 
rascal Teddy? Since he has gone and done the 
unfortunate I haven’t had a word from him. 
I’ll disown him.” 

“We none of us hear often from him. He 
has been away from home so long that the home 
ties seem to be weakened. It worries mother.” 

“Yes, I am afraid so. Well, he ought not to 
neglect her. A boy does not have his mother 
forever.” 

“No, but Uncle Ted, you know our home has 
never had its full share of love. Of course, 
Teddy ought to write and come home, but we 
have been unfortunate in this respect. I now ap- 
preciate my home more as I have studied out 
the causes of many of our unhappy moments; 
but there is always so much friction there. I 
am happier here even if I am lonely at times. 
Friction nearly kills one,” and Don stifled down 
a sob and turned to arrange some papers. Uncle 
Ted was the only person in whom she ever con- 
fided on this subject. 


Angelward 


^S6 

'^Yes, dearie, I know it. Julia and your father 
are not mates, but in those days young girls 
thought that they had to marry. I wish that I 
had been at home; I might have prevented it; 
but I was away off seeking my fortune. Well, 
don’t you do the same. No, you live in golden 
days.” 

^‘Pretty brassy sometimes.” 

“No puns now. Well, ‘all’s not gold that glit- 
ters.’ Will you go? You have not given me my 
answer yet. I do not wonder that you are an 
old maid. No fellow could have patience to be 
kept in suspense this long. Come, yes or no ?” 

“When do you want to start?” 

“First train. Is that too long ahead?” 

“It’s too soon.” 

“Well, then, whenever it is convenient. I’m 
in no hurry, so long as you’ll go. You will go ?” 

“Thank you, yes, I believe that I shall. It is 
awfully kind of you. You are always thinking 
of me.” 

“T’other way, altogether. I’m always think- 
ing of myself and how I am to have pleasure. 
Get your traps together; not too many of them, 
for I’m not young and I cannot look after band- 
boxes, hat-boxes, and shoe-boxes, trunks and 
bales galore.” 

“Dear me! what an affliction to travel with a 
woman! I shan’t take much. O’ my friend. 
Miss Webster, is there now ! You will like her.” 

“That independent creature you wrote about, 
who calls her aunts the ‘Old Parties’ ! Has she 
packed them up and taken them along? I don’t 
want any old women on my hands.” 


Angelward 


'287 

“No more does Nan. No, she has left them 
at home, and they are having a good time to 
themselves. It is just a shame her having to 
stay with them, for both parties are better off 
apart ; but circumstances, rather custom, de- 
mands a sacrifice of a young relative. She's just 
splendid!" 

“ ‘The proof o' th’ puddin's th’ preein' o' 't.' 
Well, we'll see. If she calls me an ‘old party' 
I’m done with her.” 

“No danger.” 

“Sure.” 

“Positive.” 

“Get ready. May I smoke on the veranda ?” 

“Yes.” 

“All right, then. Go and get ready.” As Don 
went off to make some necessary arrangements 
about leaving her practice. Uncle Ned smoked 
contentedly on the side veranda and muttered to 
himself: “Mighty fine girl! Gad, but I wish 
I were young! What are those young whipper- 
snappers doing? ‘It's an ill wind that blows 
naebody gude.' I am better off, but she ought 
to have a home and bairns. It's a poor business 
knocking around all alone after all. She's just 
the kind to have a home. She'd attend to it; no 
flightiness about such as she. What are men 
thinking about? They’re so afraid of a woman 
with brains; think they will lose their power, 
simpletons and fools!” 


288 


Angelward 


>■ 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

“Why, Dr. Don! where did you spring from? 
I was just saying to Miss Lawson that I did 
wish you were here ; and here behold you stand 1 
Talk of fairies !’" 

“Speak of the old fellow and he appears.” 

“Rather whisper of angels and you hear the 
rustle of their wings. Why, dear! where did 
you spring from?” 

“O, Uncle Ted came along and fairly com- 
pelled me to come! Not that it required very 
much forcing. It is fairyland.” 

“Yes, isn’t it beautiful? I knew that you 
would appreciate it. How long have you been 
here?” 

“Two days.” 

“And this is the first I have seen of you!” 

“I telephoned your aunts for your address, 
but I could not get a satisfactory answer.” 

“No, I warrant you. Miss Caroline had the 
neuralgia and Miss Loudon had taken leave of 
her senses. Such ‘Old Parties’ ! Well, I am rid 
of them for the time being. This is Heaven and 
I hate to go back to Hell.” 

“Shame!” 

“No, I am honest. Are you alone ?’^ 

“Why, no. Uncle Ted is with me.” 

“The dear, charming old bachelor ! Do intro- 


Angelward 289 

duce us. I might, you know,’’ and Nancy looked 
roguishly at Don. 

^‘No danger. Fireproof!” 

“Warranted not to collapse on fire? Dear, 
dear, but one can never tell 1 Doctor, who is that 
you are gazing at?” 

“Only a man. I fancied that I had seen him 
before; but, no, I think not.” 

“ ‘Only a man’ ! Is our Doctor becoming gay? 
Never I never 1 !” 

“O, no, but it was the resemblance! One sees 
it sometimes in a perfect stranger.” 

“Yes; well, I shall watch all the ‘perfect 
strangers,’ and then maybe I shall learn some- 
thing. Where is this charming chaperon of 
yours? I want to meet him.” 

“He has gone off to see something particu- 
larly interesting to him, and I said I would wait 
here. Have you been anywhere else than to the 
Exposition ?” 

“Why, no ! Is this not sufficient ?” 

“More than so ; but we are going to a spiritu- 
alistic seance to-night.” 

“Never!” 

“Yes.” 

“Are you delving into it?” 

“O, no ! Only I want to see what it is like. 
Will you accompany us? Here is Uncle Ted! 
Miss Webster, uncle.” 

“I am very much delighted to meet you. Miss 
Webster. This girl has been sounding your 
praises for so long that I feel as if I knew you 
very well.” 

“I hope that she has not told any tales.” 


290 


Angelward 


'‘Indeed, no!” 

“Uncle Ted, I have asked Miss Webster to 
accompany us this evening.” 

“Right glad I am, for I shall have one sane 
person to keep me company. I expect you to be 
soaring off to t’other worlds. Hang it 1 what do 
you want to go for, anyway? It is uncanny.” 

“To see what a seance is like.” 

“The inquisitiveness of these advanced wo- 
men is enough to make an old fellow’s hair stand 
on end. I hope that you are not one of them, 
Miss Webster.” 

“Not a bit; a real old-fashioned girl.” 

“Yes, I should say so. No Uncle Ted, you are 
in a trap. We shall have to find an old demois- 
elle for you. There’s one over there.” 

“Thank you, no. I prefer young ones. Will 
Miss Webster dine with us?” 

“Thank you. I am off on my own hook. Miss 
Lawson has gone out for dinner.” 

“Everything all hunk-a-dory, then. Let us go 
home. It is half-past six, and if we are going 
to that Devil’s class-meeting we had better 
scoot. I am almost afraid that these old pins 
of mine will give out before long. Don, you 
have no mercy on an old man.” 

“I do declare! there you are again, staring at 
a man. This is serious. Are they not common 
enough ?” 

“Yes, only this one haunts me. I have seen 
him some place before; but where?” 

“He’s not much to look at, anyway.” 

“He has a sort of ethereal look. Look at him, 
Nancy !” 


Angelward 


291 


“O, that! Why, that’s an ordinary-looking 
creature. Get something better than that to look 
at. I wonder at your taste, Doctor.” 

“She always makes one wonder. Come, here 
is our car !” 


2(^2 


Angelward 


CHAPTER XL. 

Uncle Ted and his two companions were 
ushered into the long salon of Madame Zanoni, 
the leading spiritualistic medium of Buffalo. 
The room was already well filled wth a respect- 
able audience, which appeared to be composed 
of men and women of brains; here and there a 
giddy, frivolous individual might be seen, drawn 
thither by a desire for a fad or from pure curios- 
ity ; but for the greater part they appeared to be 
people bent on a true and serious aspect of life. 
It was a long and narrow, low-ceilinged room, 
dimly lighted by soft, delicately shaded incan- 
descent lights. The curtains and hangings were 
soft and subdued in tint. Palms and delicate 
cut flowers were placed here and there where 
they would be most effective and sweet music 
proceeded from a small room communicating 
by a curtained arch with the audience chamber. 
The floor was covered with soft Turkish rugs. 
At the upper end of the room was a low, raised 
platform, on which palms and flowers were ar- 
ranged. When the audience had assembled and 
all sat in an expectant attitude, a faint sound 
was heard, and on looking in the direction 
whence it issued, they saw a middle-aged woman 
of uncommon appearance pass almost noiselessly 
through the curtained arch, so noiselessly as to 


Angelward 


293 


attract attention — a whisper may carry sound 
when a loud voice passes by unheeded. There 
was an other worldness about this sound, an un- 
usualness which made it apparent; and then the 
expectant ears and eyes, nay, all senses, the ex- 
pectant mind was on the alert to detect the 
faintest vibration. It was such an expectant at- 
titude as that which is on the alert for sounds 
from other worlds, the sounds heard by the dy- 
ing. She walked gracefully to the platform, 
gazed over the assembled audience and then 
stood silently and gazed off towards the ceiling 
for a few moments. She was a tall woman 
whose hair was gray, but whose appearance 
otherwise was one of youth. There was a glow 
of perfect health about her which caused one to 
say, '‘How young!” She was clad in a long, 
loose Grecian gown of soft white silk, caught at 
the waist by a golden girdle. Every movement 
was full of grace, like the harmonious move- 
ment of a gentle breeze, and when at last she 
arose to address her audience her voice was as 
the sweetest music. Don was spellbound. She 
had read of such voices, but never before had 
she heard one. A sweetness as of the ethereal 
world pervaded this woman’s whole person. 
Don gazed as one infatuated. “If this is the 
result of spiritualism, then the more of it the 
better. I have never seen such beauty, such har- 
monious loveliness. This is sublime! No won- 
der that Harty thinks this happiness. Would he 
not enjoy this!” 

The music sank to an almost inaudible sound, 
the lights were lowered and in the sweetest ac- 


294 


AnGELWAM) 


cents imaginable Madame Zanoni said: "One 
member of the audience, whose name 1 shall 
not mention, has desired me to obtain some in- 
formation relating to his private affairs from 
those in the spirit world. I shall ask the ques- 
tions which he has given to me and the answers 
shall come by means of a trumpet.” As she said 
"one of the audience” every member looked in- 
voluntarily at the others, as if to say, "It must be 
you.” Nancy gazed all around the room and 
then whispered to Don: "It is that man in the 
corner; he is trying to look indifferent; the fair 
one. Why, he is your ethereal man ! He 
is one of them and he was hypnotizing you. 
Doctor, you are in danger. We had better take 
you home. It’s all a joke. It is a put up piece of 
business.” 

"Hush! you will disturb conditions. One ad- 
verse person may.” 

"Well, I’m mum, then, for I want to see the 
show out ; but he is the man.” 

Don also thought so, but she did not say so. 
"I wonder who he is? I feel strangely inter- 
ested in him. It seems as if he fascinates me.” 

The medium reclined on a soft, pillowed divan 
and over her face spread a more Heavenly ex- 
pression. It was as if she saw a glimpse of 
Heaven, and no doubt she thought that she was 
in communication with its inhabitants. As soon 
as she had asked the questions she arose, pointed 
to the centre of the ceiling, and then fixing her 
gaze steadily on her audience she said here is 
the trumpet. They all looked first at her, then at 
the ceiling, and slowly a thin, white diaphanous 


Angelward 


295 


gauze trumpet-shaped apparition hung suspend- 
ed in the air as if attached by an invisible cord 
to the ceiling. It waved gently, and it was as 
if a huge, white morning glory had at once 
blossomed forth from some unseen vine. It 
quivered in the air as if this earth’s atmosphere 
were too strong for it, and then from its depths 
issued a voice of such mellow sweetness, as much 
different from a blast of an ordinary trumpet 
as the divinest harmony from the clang of a 
cow’s bell. The whole room was sweetened by it, 
it was as a perfumed breeze ; a hush fell on those 
assembled, and in its liquid, musical tones the 
following answer came : “You were not mistaken 
the other night in the answers you received from 
your spirit guides. You have a mission. You 
must live for it. She is not for you.” Then the 
almost transparent, filmy apparition quivered 
and floated in the air ; then, as a crumpled flower, 
descended and alighted in Don’s lap. She gave 
an involuntary start and strove to cast it aside. 
It faded and was gone. She attempted to appear 
calm, but she could not feel at ease. The young 
man in the front seat sat more squarely and 
looked straight ahead of him. Uncle Ted gave 
a sigh of relief and said to Nancy: “Please give 
Don a nudge ; we must be going. It is late and 
this is all fake. We shan’t stay for any more. 
I hope she is satisfied.” 

The three walked quietly out and were once 
more in the fresh air. “Well, Don, had enough 
of sorcery for one night?” 

“No, I want to know something more about 

it.” 


296 


Angelward 


‘Tut all such trash away. It is all fake.” 

“That is what I want to find out. Is it merely 
hvnnotism or is it true communication with the 
other worlds?” 

“There is no communicating with the other 
worlds. It is all moonshine. Hypnotism, or, if 
you like, other Devils’ work.” 

“But where did that trumpet come from? Did 
she merely hypnotize us all? Did it really not 
fall? Did she only make us believe it did? I 
want to know.” 

“It’s all nonsense, lass. It’s uncanny if it is 
true and it is all foolishness if it is not true. 
What good will it do that man ?” 

“But are not all nations, all creeds, all re- 
ligions impregnated with this one idea of a Prov- 
idence which orders our ways and answers our 
petitions ? Is not Spiritualism only an improved, 
an exaggerated idea of the universally held 
view ?” 

“Maybe, but I have not delved down into 
theology or philosophy. It only makes life 
harder. There is no use in always trying to get 
at the bottom of things, for you can’t; so you 
may as well stay at the top and skim along the 
surface as get half way down where you can’t 
see anything. I’d sooner float than sink. No, 
Don, you are too fond of getting in deep waters. 
Now confess, aren’t you?” 

“Well, I want to know. It may be a long way 
to the bottom, but I must get there.” 


Angelward 


297 


CHAPTER XLI. 

It was the last evening of their visit to the 
Exposition and they were sitting on a bench by 
the canal close to the towers of the Triumphal 
Bridge. It was cool and quiet. A couple of gon- 
dolas passed slowly along the canal and a few 
stray visitors passed by, but it was compara- 
tively undisturbed. A rustic bridge crossed a 
smaller canal leading to a lagoon and a rustic 
summer house was quite close by. Uncle Ted, 
who for the past few days had been eager to be 
on the qui vive, just like any young boy, at last 
said: ^‘What do you say to a last stroll around 
by the Court of Fountains?” 

'‘Yes,” answered the ever-ready Nancy, who 
had become a permanent acquisition to the party, 
“I do love to see the illuminations.” 

“If you two do not object I believe that I shall 
remain here. You can come back for me.” 

“All right ; but shan’t you be bnely ?” 

“O, no! I have seen so much within the last 
few days that I feel almost satiated. Let me try 
and digest some of it.” 

“You can do that in Tecumseh; but, well, as 
you like. Tra-la! We’ll look you up later on.” 

This was just what Don wanted. She did 
enjoy moments to think by herself and she had 
not had any lately. Since she had attended the 


298 


Angelward 


seance she had been attempting to come to some 
satisfactory conclusions concerning spiritualism, 
but as yet she had been unable to disburden her 
mind of the idea that it was suggestion pure and 
simple. She could see no need of thinking that 
spirits from the other world really come into 
communication with us. No, they only fancied 
that they did. They were highly imaginative, 
rendered such by their conceptions of a future 
existence, a spirit world. This writing on slates 
was not the work of departed souls, but merely 
an optical illusion produced by the mind of the 
medium over those who sought her aid. That 
gauzy trumpet was only a fake, and yet was she, 
Don Fenwick, so easily influenced, she with all 
her materialism? But, no, her idea was right. 
It certainly would do these people no harm to 
believe as they did, if one could judge by their 
lovely, happy appearances ; still might it not deter 
them from developing their reasoning faculties 
if they learned to depend on others to decide 
for them; but, no, for it was only their own 
reason they were using, but perhaps reason be- 
yond reason. Imaginative people are not relia- 
ble. If one mind can affect another in this world, 
why not a mind in another world? Was it any 
moi e unreasonable for a person down here to 
consult a Heavenly person for advice than for 
one person to seek it of another on this earth? 
No, it did not appear feasible ; but yet,” and Don 
looked seriously worried, “what was the need 
of this Heavenly interference? Man was here 
just as one step in the evolution “Angelward”; 
then why not allow him as any insignificant 


Angelward 


299 


amoeba to exist and then die? He was only a 
more complex advanced amoeba, a mass of 
amoebae., Each cell of his body was only a mass 
of protoplasm like the amoeba with powers of 
seeking nutrition, of being cognizant of its sur- 
roundings, capable of movement, growth and of 
reproducing its kind. Man was only a mass of 
such jelly-like constituents, grouped together in 
masses to form organs for the performance of 
the dilferent functions of the body. In the 
amoeba one cell performed the many, in man 
many cells performed a function. Instead of the 
one being, dividing and forming two new beings, 
in man two small organs composed of numerous 
cells, eliminated one of their number and this 
formed the new being. Reproduction in man did 
not mean annihilation of the parent, but merely 
loss of a cell. The parent lived to still farther 
perpetuate his kind, but this one little cell was 
only an amoeba-like structure. No man did not 
live in a future state. Death was annihilation for 
him ; that was as plain as A, B, C and twice two 
is four. Harty is wrong.’' Having finished these 
reveries, Don stepped down on to the cool, green 
sward near the edge of the canal and gazed at 
the moonlight on the water. Beautiful and won- 
derful as the electrical illumination was, it could 
not, in Don’s eyes, equal old Luna’s for soft- 
ness of beauty. There was a lifelike glow about 
the latter’s which that of man’s production 
lacked, and yet after all was not this light of the 
moon a dead thing, the reflection of the sun on 
a cold, dead planet? Sweet strains of music 
floated on the gentle breeze to her and Don 


300 


Angelvvard 


thought this the most Heavenly hour that she 
had spent since her arrival. As she sat there 
enjoying this lovely environment a young man 
walked slowly over the bridge and came and 
stood just behind her. She thought him rude and 
arose and was on the point of moving aw^ay, 
when a bunch of keys which she held fell to the 
ground. She stooped to pick them up, exclaim- 
ing “How stupid!” Don knew that sometimes 
girls did such things to attract young men’s at- 
tention, and she had no wish to attract this man, 
who had ben so rude as to intrude. There was 
plenty of room and he might have chosen an- 
other spot. He stepped forward to pick them 
up, but the agile Don had already regained pos- 
session of them, and she swiftly passed towards 
the rustic bridge, where she stopped and looked 
down into the water. He turned towards the 
canal again and seemed to be in deep medita- 
tion. Don looked at him, and whether it was that 
he felt her gaze on him, he turned quickly and 
looked at her. He was the fair man who had 
attracted her attention so often during these few 
days. What was there about him that caused 
her to notice him? Where had she seen him 
before? As Don looked towards him he ad- 
vanced in her direction as if to speak to her. 
She walked across the bridge away from him 
and gave a little shudder. “He haunts me.” 
As she stepped oif the bridge Nancy and Uncle 
Ted met her, and the former, evidently noticing 
a change in Don’s manner, said : “Ha-ha 1 Miss ! 
been flirting with a man! The fair man, too!” 


Angelward 


301 

“No, I haven’t. He came there and I left. 
He haunts me.” 

“All very well. Mr. Barnard, it s not safe 
to leave the Doctor alone. We shall have to 
watch her. Let us sit down here. There he is 
gazing at you! He looks as if he wanted to 
come over here. Yes, he is coming.” He had 
advanced a few steps over the bridge, but quickly 
he turned and walked off in the opposite direc- 
tion. 


302 


Angelward 


CHAPTER XLII. 

Don had returned from the Pan-American 
Exposition and had received a letter from Dr. 
Hartz describing his visit there and saying how 
much he had enjoyed it and wishing that she had 
been with him. She had replied and had said 
that they must have been there about the same 
time, but that of course it was not surprising 
that they had not met in so vast a crowd, and 
then they had never seen each other; true she 
had a photo, but he had never even seen one of 
her, and his might not resemble him. Things 
went on as of old, letters were exchanged, each 
expressing his views of life, and so life wagged 
on for a month or so, when again to Don came 
another of the experiences of her life, little in 
its beginning but greater in its ending, one of 
the great epochs of her life, one she would have 
at first scorned to acknowledge herself an actor 
in, but which later on became her very life. 
She had settled down to work with renewed 
vim, assured that such was her destiny in life, 
when suddenly, nay, rather slowly, a new factor 
crept in to change the current of her life and 
bring her down from spiritual heights to purely 
earthly hollows. 

It was a warm September day. Don had been 
just one year in practice in Tecumseh, and her 


Angelward 


303 


calls being paid and her office work over, she 
mounted her bicycle and rode out to a favorite 
country spot, down a side road over which the 
wheeling was not good, but few such obstacles 
ever deterred Don when there was such a reward 
in store for her. She rode the greater part of 
the way and then walked the rest. Arriving 
at the crest of a long hill, which overlooked a 
broad low valley, the former bed of a large 
river, but through whose meadows now only a 
tiny stream wound its way sinuously to the lake 
a few miles distant. On the broad bosom of 
this one-time large river brave redskins and 
their squaws had traveled either in pursuit of the 
white man or on hunting expeditions. It was a 
lovely spot and Don loved it. She did not often 
visit it, for well it does not do to have the laity 
find one enjoying such scenes; they expect a 
doctor to be in his office or at the bedside of the 
sick ; a ride for pleasure is to them an indication 
that he is not busy and for him to have spare 
moments in which to study and enjoy Nature 
is tantamount to him being “no good.’' They 
have not depth and breadth of mind to under- 
stand that it is a man fully developed, artist, 
poet, doctor and all and not a mere machine that 
makes the best physician and surgeon. Don 
hated to cater to this feeling, but one must put 
some feelings in her pocket. She might have 
danced the wee sma’ hours away and have been 
immensely popular and all would have been well ; 
but for her to enjoy a scene like this all alone 
was another thing. The practical, machine-like 
world scorns the dreamer, and this it counted as 


304 


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dreaming; this recreation of the soul was out 
of its ken; but as it had been one of the spots 
visited by her when lonely at first and being 
s oothed by it, she had retained a kindly feeling 
for it. Kindly memories, whether of persons, 
places or things, remain with us. She leaned 
her wheel against a rail fence and then seated 
herself on the topmost rail. Her hat lay on the 
ground and the soft breeze gently ruffled her 
hair. “O, this is lovely!” she whispered. “Yes, 
just lovely! I wonder if Harty would enjoy 
this, but,” and here a pained expression crossed 
her face,'. “No, I won’t think of it.” She 
picked the decayed wood from the rail and threw 
it to the ground. A chipmunk caught sight of 
her and scurried away along the fence down the 
hill. She heard a rustling in the long grass near 
her and on looking up she saw a man approach- 
ing. Don knew no fear and evidently not ex- 
pecting to find him an acquaintance she looked 
straight in front of her at the fields down be- 
low, green with fall wheat. She heard him com- 
ing nearer, he passed her and stood on the very 
brow of the hill, and laying down his bicycle 
lifted his hat from his head and wiped his fore- 
head with his handkerchief, and then holding 
his hat in his hand took in a long, deep breath 
of fresh air and gazed at the scene below. 
From the chimney of a whitewashed house in 
the hollow, at a turn in the road, a white column 
of smoke arose and a woman’s voice could be 
heard calling “Co-boss ! co-boss ! ! co-boss ! ! !” 
A tinkle of a cow-bell was heard and a red and 
white cow came around the bend of the road, 


Angelward 


305 


followed by several others and a small boy and 
girl in their barefeet with a collie running and 
jumping around them. Replacing his hat he 
folded his arms and seemed to drink in the 
scene. Don watched him, but as yet had not 
seen his face. He was a man of medium height, 
straight, supple and well preserved, for his age 
must have been fifty; his hair was iron gray and 
his complexion dark and ruddy. There was a 
manly, cultured look about him, and his clear-cut 
patrician features denoted that he was of no 
common stock. On looking at her watch Don 
saw that it was half-past five and decided that 
she must tear herself away, and anyway she 
she preferred this spot all alone by herself. The 
man had not intruded on her, but he was there 
all the same, and she preferred to be here all 
alone ; so she slipped down from the fence, 
pinned on her hat, shook out her skirt and turned 
her wheel from the fence. The man turned and 
after giving her a swift glance, exclaimed: 
“Why, Dr. Fenwick! I did not know that this 
was you!’' 

“Nor I you. Judge Richmond.” 

“Do you often come here?” 

“No, only once in a while.” 

“Is it not a picture spot?” 

“Yes, I think so. It is a favorite of yours, 
then ?” 

“Yes, I find it refreshing.” 

“I fancied that you did. You seemed so en 
rapport with it.” 

“You were watching me then,” and he looked 
intently at her. 


Angelward 


306 

“Yes ; may not the cat look at the king?” 

“Why, yes; but I hardly looked for such a 
compliment.” 

“In Tecumseh every one looks at the others.” 

“Yes, but not in this way.” 

“What way?” 

“Why, of friend to friend.” 

“They are all friends here.” 

“Yes and no. Are you going? May I accom- 
pany you?” 

“Yes.” They rode on, and after a short silence 
her companion said : “Are you busy now ?” 
Don did wish that these people would not always 
ask this question, but they all did. 

“O, I am not rushed, but my practice grows !” 

“The rush will come; but’,’ and he looked in- 
tently at her, “is it not very discouraging work ?” 

“At times.” 

“I thought so. I have fancied that you looked 
troubled at times, but we all have our share. I 
have felt as if my heart would break, but ” 

Don did not reply. She was wondering if she 
showed her worries. She had always prided 
herself on presenting a happy, don’t-care face 
to the world, no matter how she felt. Had she 
failed? She must have. Don did not want 
sympathy, but now this man was troubled him- 
self and he judged others by himself. His home 
life was very unhappy, as she had often heard. 
His mind’s eye was so tinged with his own sor- 
rows, that he could not see but that all others 
were in the same state. They wheeled on in 
silence and Don, who was setting the pace, rode 


Angelward 


307 

quickly until they arrived at the foot of the steep 
hill. “You will not ride this, Doctor?’’ 

“No, I never do.” 

“That is wise.” 

They dismounted and leisurely climbed the hill, 
but as soon as she reached the top Don jumped 
on her wheel before her companion could assist 
her. “Why did you not allow me to assist you ?” 

“O, I forgot! I am so accustomed to helping 
myself,” and Don laughed. 

“You take your independence happily.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because it does not seem natural.” 

“O, that day is over!” 

“You like it then?” 

“Why not?” 

“Well, if you can it is well; but few can. I 
admire the woman who can go out into the 
world. I have admired you from the start.” 

“Without knowing me? That is dangerous.” 

“I can read men.” 

“But women, what about them? The ways 
of women are past finding out.’ ” 

“And you think that I cannot read you?’ 

“Yes.” 

“You are mistaken. Pardon the contradic- 
tion.” Here the conversation was interrupted 
by Don saying: “I go this way,” and turning 
to her companion she hurried on. He looked 
after her and then turned in the opposite direc- 
tion. “I may have appeared rude, but I do not 
want him coming with me. This is such a gos- 
sipy place, and that wife of his; I really should 
not have ridden with him ; but, well, I could not 


3o8 


Angelward 


help it. O, it is awful having to be so particular, 
and we woman doctors have to be doubly so. 
We are only the merest acquaintances and he 
will think that I did not expect him to come 
any farther.” 

He 4: * * ♦ slf * 

That evening, as Don sat in her office, the 
telephone rang, and arising quickly, as was her 
wont, she put the receiver to her ear and called 
“Hello !” An impatient, petulant but well-bred 
voice from the other end said: “Dr. Fenwick, 
I wish you would call this evening to see me, 
Mrs. Richmond. I am feeling wretched to-night 
and the Judge has just said, ‘Why don’t you try 
Dr. Fenwick?’ It is no use, I know; but I am 
sick and tired of the rest and I have no one in 
attendance now; so come right off if you can.” 

“Yes,” announced Don, “I shall be there in 
fifteen minutes,” and she rang off the ’phone. 
To herself she said, “I am to be given a trial, I 
suppose. Well, maybe I may be able to do 
something for her, but I hae ma doots! Nancy 
told me that she had never given any one a 
chance. One of those awful neurotics, a curse 
to whoever and whatever they let their shadow 
fall on.” At a quarter to eight Dr. Fenwick was 
ushered into the elegantly furnished drawing- 
room of Judge Richmond’s residence, where a 
gas log burned on the hearth and softly shaded 
electric lights illuminated the room. Perfect 
taste was displayed in all of its appointments, as 
Don could see at a glance. She had often heard 
that this was the most elegantly furnished home 
in Tecumseh, but this was her first visit to it, for 


Angelward 


309 


they did not entertain. She had met the Judge 
quite often at Mrs. Lawrence’s, but his wife was 
a perfect stranger to her. The maid drew aside 
a handsome portiere curtain, and on announcing 
“Dr. Fenwick,” a tall, dark woman arose from a 
low chair by a table near the hearth and ad- 
vanced to receive her. In a voice which Don 
would not have recognized as that of the person 
who had spoken to her through the telephone — 
it had now lost its harshness and petulance and 
was so soft and tender — she said, “You must 
have thought me very abrupt, but they always 
provoke me at the Central office; they are so 
negligent in answering, and then I have no pa- 
tience; so I just get cross. It is a dreadful 
affliction to be nervous. Have this chair,” and 
she drew a low, soft chair up to the fire-place 
for Don; “or perhaps you do not care for the 
heat.” 

“O, I just love a grate fire!” 

“It must be nice to find anything lovely; 
everything is the same to me now. Life is aw- 
fully blase. Here, Frankie,” and she touched 
with the toe of her embroidered slipper a boy 
of five sleeping on the Persian rug, just as one 
would awaken a sleeping dog, a pet dog, but a dog 
all the same, “come, get up and go to your bed. 
Youd father told you to go an hour ago and you 
have not gone yet. Do you hear me?” and then 
turning to Don she said : “Children are such 
a care ! I never should have had one.” The boy 
turned slowly on his back, rubbed his eyes and 
looked at Don and then at his mother. He was 
a handsome child and dressed in a black velvet 


Angel WARD 


310 

Fauntleroy suit looked indeed well pleasing to 
the eye. After giving Don a critical gaze he sat 
up and crossing his legs clasped his small 
hands around one of his knees, cuddled up close 
to his mother’s heliotrope house dress and 
leaned his head against her knee. ‘‘Frankie, do 
you hear me; go to bed! Florence will undress 
you.” 

“No, she won’t.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“She’s out.” 

“Then Kate will.” 

“No, she won’t. I won’t let her. She’ll do 
it,” and he pointed at Don. 

“Dr. Fenwick does not undress naughty little 
boys.” 

“She undressed Bruce Carruthers and she will 
undress me. Won’t you?” and he looked en- 
treatingly at Don. 

“Not to-night, dear.” 

“You will,” and he looked defiantly at her; 
“you will if I make you.” 

“Frankie, I shall tell your father!” 

“He won’t say anything. He told you to leave 
me alone.” 

“You shall go to bed at once. I shall call 
Kate,” and Mrs. Richmond touched a bell close 
at her side. The maid who had admitted Don 
appeared and in obedience to her mistress’ com- 
mand stooped and lifted Frankie oflf the floor. 
It was no easy task, but the girl was strong and 
he was delicate, and she walked quickly out of 
the room with the screaming, kicking child, 
who in his anger could hardly articulate dis- 


Angelward 


3II 

tinctly, but Don heard him say “Darned old 
thing/’ 

The mother rearranged her cushions and then 
toying with a lace handkerchief sighed, “What 
a life I have! I have not strength to manage 
that child ; he nearly drives me wild, and yet the 
whole responsibility rests with me. The Judge 
never bothers about him; gives him everything 
he wants, and of course I cannot govern him. 
His father sees him only when he is good; 
anyway he sees very little of either of us.” Don 
sat in silence until Mrs. Richmond turned and 
casting a penetrating glance on her said: “You 
think me a crank? Well, I am disgusted with 
this world at large and myself most of all. There 
is nothing in life for me. I have not known a 
day’s health since that child was born, and I get 
no better. I am sure no one knows what is 
wrong with me. I have tried this thing and 
that thing and I am no better. I have every- 
thing that money can buy to make life happy, 
and yet I am very unhappy. I cannot entertain ; 
if I exert myself I am worse, so all I can do is 
to mope around, a living corpse, a grinning skele- 
ton, a drag on myself and every other person. 
Sometimes I think I shall stop it all.” 

“Don’t, don’t say that! Something may be 
done for you. Have you given any one treat- 
ment or any one physician a chance ?” 

“I have tried all.” 

“Yes, but have you tried them long enough? 
Have you ever ha(l ^^our case thoroughly ex- 
amined by a specialist?” 

“No, none but the doctors here. We always 


Angelward 


312 

patronize our own. They ought to know. I did 
not call you in expecting much, but I had to do 
something.” 

“I can see no use in my calling then, Mrs. 
Richmond,” and Don looked sternly at her. “I 
shall refuse to have anything to do with your 
case if you will not allow me to thoroughly 
examine it, and unless you submit to a thorough 
treatment. You cannot be cured in a day, may- 
be not cured at all, only helped; but it will take 
time and a great deal depends on yourself.” 

^‘Don’t tell me that it depends on me. I can- 
not take any responsibility in my state. Dr. 
Blair always told me that; but I am no better.” 

‘‘Did you try him?” 

‘‘Well, no.” 

“Then how could you expect to be bene- 
fited?” 

“Don’t preach to me, I cannot stand it. It sets 
my nerves all on edge ; but do something 
quick.” 

“Not until I have fully examined your case. 
I shall call to-morrow at ten.” 

“And you will not help me to-night?” 

“I shall advise you to go to bed and take this 
powder.” 

“I cannot take morphine.” 

“This is not morphine, only a simple sedative.” 

“It will not do me any good.” 

“Do you want to get better?” 

“Of course.” 

“Well, then, do not raise so many objections,” 

“You are stern.” 

“One has to be,” 


Angelward 


313 


“You will find me an awful crank.” 

“Your bark may be worse than your bite.” 

“You think you understand me?” 

“To a certain extent. I shall better later on.” 

“You are candid. Must you ^o?” 

“Yes.” 

“Come often. I am alone all the time except 
when some one comes in and I do not want them. 
The Judge is out all the time. Men do not care 
for home.” 

“He is a busy man.” 

“I suppose so, but ” 

“Good-evening, Mrs. Richmond.” 

“Good-evening, Doctor. Come again soon.” 

“To-morrow at ten.” 

“O, I don’t know ! I am afraid you will find 
something awful the matter — operation! hos- 
pital!!” and the nervous woman lifted her hands 
and looked at Don with terror tragically depicted 
on her face and almost screamed the last words. 

“You could not be much worse than you are 
now,” Don said to herself, as she walked out of 
the room and let herself out of the front door. 
“O, one of those awful neurasthenics! Good 
Lord! deliver me from such; and such a home 
for them all, not a happy soul in it.” 

Hi 

Don thoroughly examined Mrs. Richmond, 
gave her opinion to both the patient and the 
Judge. The former said she was sure at last 
some one understood her and she agreed to sub- 
mit to treatment. A trained nurse was gotten 
and put in charge and the patient was put to bed, 
bathed, masseed and removed from all source of 


314 


Angelward 


irritation. In a few weeks she showed some 
signs of improvement and all was going on 
smoothly, when her mother appeared on the 
scene and took entire charge. She was a great, 
large woman, perfectly unable to understand the 
case. When they first met she gave Don a look 
which boded of no good. By it she plainly 
showed that she thought a woman doctor a use- 
less person. Don read her aright, but paid no 
attention to her looks nor the little insinuations 
which she cast at her from time to time. The 
patient from having implicit confidence in Don 
began to occasionally ask insinuating questions, 
which Don knew had been instigated by some 
remarks of her mother. One evening shortly 
after the latter’s arrival. Judge Richmond called 
and said, “Doctor, I want to have a private talk 
with you. I cannot do so at the house. Remem- 
ber this is strictly private.” 

“Certainly, all confidences about my patients 
always are.” 

“What do you think of the case?” 

“I think that Mrs. Richmond was doing nicely, 
but I am not so well satisfied of late.” 

“Since Mrs. Spencer’s arrival?” 

“Yes.” 

“I thought so. Well, they are a queer pair,” 
and the Judge passed his hand wearily across his 
forehead. “I know them of old, and you will 
know them before long.” 

“One feature of the treatment necessary for 
your wife is isolation from friends. With Miss 
Forbes as nurse and you understanding and will- 
ing to comply with my orders, I was hopeful of 


Angelward 


315 


a certain amount of success in the case; but now 
I am not hopeful. I see signs of the patient dis- 
trusting me. She asks questions now, which she 
did not do at first, and right before her Mrs. 
Spencer asks them. This has all occurred since 
Mrs. Spencer's arrival. I have grave thoughts 
of dropping the case.” 

“O, don’t! Mrs. Richmond likes you; but yet 
I cannot give you much encouragement, for she 
is so fickle. I am powerless to do anything. I 
always have been. If I could have influenced 
my wife she would never be in the state she now 
is; but Mrs. Spencer has always interfered until 
now I am of no account. They are so w-edded 
to each other that nothing can alter their minds 
once one makes a decision, and it is generally 
Mrs. Spencer who does so, and my wife is gov- 
erned by it. While Miss Forbes was off duty 
this afternoon my wife had an attack of hysteria 
and Miss Forbes on her return found her in an 
awful condition. I know that Mrs. Spencer had 
worked her up to it. She does not always agree 
with her mother at first, and sometimes there is 
a row and tears, but in the end she gives in. 
Had you not better call and see her to-night?” 

“No, I think not. They might suspect that 
you had been here. Miss Forbes will call me if 
it is necessary.” 

“As you think; only I wish to help you in the 
case.” 

“Yes, I understand, but ” 

“Well, as you say. You know best.” 

Judge Richmond grasped Don’s hand tightly 
as he bade her good-evening. She turned and 


/ 


3i6 Angelward 

looked into the fire for a few moments, and then 
walked hastily up and down the room. “Fll lose 
it in the end. I cannot trust that Mrs. Spencer. 
Even to my face she acts as if she thinks I am 
attempting to kill her daughter. Horrors, such 
people! Too ignorant to see that I have their 
good at heart. My treatment is not old-fash- 
ioned enough to suit them. If I did as Dr. Blair, 
gave pills and powders, it would suit them. I 
wish I could put new minds in them, that is what 
they need. Without the mother one might, but 
she spoils it all. They are both half insane. I 
pity that man. Why do men marry such women ? 
It beats all!’’ 

It was now seven weeks since Don had com- 
menced to treat Mrs. Richmond, and in the last 
three she had made no progress; she was irri- 
table, suspicious of the Doctor’s orders, less 
frank and open, hinted at being improperly 
treated, until Don hat^d the case, and although 
she entered the patient’s room the same as usual, 
she felt hopeless about the case. The Judge 
often called at the office to talk over the case, 
and he, too, hinted that his wife was suspicious 
that she was being neglected. 

“One would think that your wife imagined 
herself the Queen of England. I do the same 
for all my patients, rich or poor. I cannot at 
once cure a woman because she is rich. One 
would think that I am filled with malicious de- 
signs. I am daily insulted, if not by word, by 
action.” 

‘T know it. They never did treat any one 


Angelward 


317 

honorably; but do make the best of it for my 
sake.” 

*‘For my profession’s sake,” and Don drew 
herself up. 

*‘Well, yes, of course ; but,” and here the Judge 
took her hand, “for my sake, too. You cannot 
know what a life I lead.” 

“We shall not discuss it,” and Don again drew 
herself away. 

“No, well, not now,” and he left her. 

“I must be cool to this man. I pity him, but 
it is not for me to show it. He has a hell of a 
time, but one must suffer for his errors.” 

Affairs continued so for some time, and again 
one evening the Judge called; but this time he 
did not mention his wife, but rather sat down in 
a chair beside the fire-place and Don sat on the 
other side. He spoke of the weather, which was 
then cool with signs of the coming winter. Don 
wondered what had brought him, but she did 
not mention his wife, not caring to draw him 
into a discussion of the painful subject. They 
talked on, then he stretched out his hand and 
placing it on one of hers, which lay on the arm 
of her chair, tenderly caressed it. Don straight- 
ened herself, but did not remove her hand ; why 
she did not she did not know; she felt cold and 
drawn within herself, but at the same time her 
hand seemed to be chained there by an unseen 
force. He at length removed his hand and 
gently, nay, lovingly, toyed with a few stray 
hairs, which, having fallen loosely from the rest 
encircling her temples, he lifted them and re- 
placed them and gazed admiringly at her — not 


3i8 


Angelward 


the gloating, leering gaze of the man who stands 
on the street corner, but the honest, admiring 
glance of a man who really and truly admires 
a woman. Don sat there as a stone statue. 
“What would Harty think of me?” kept passing 
through her mind. To most of us the thought 
of what some dear one or some one whose opin- 
ion we value thinks comes to us in such moments. 
“The purest, truest woman, no superior to her in 
the land.” He would not say so now. To Don 
to let a man think that she knew he was attempt- 
ing to take liberties with her was agony. She 
would almost sooner suffer than have him know 
it. Such a position might be right in other cir- 
cumstances, but in this battlefield, survival-of- 
the-fittest, struggling of good against evil world 
one has to let his companion know his mind. 
Don’s weakest point was along the line of her 
affections, and also in that she disliked to hurt 
another’s feelings. She knew that this man had 
no right to fondle her, but she hated to cause 
him more pain. Had a perfect stranger attempt- 
ed such he would have been repulsed at once; 
but Don sympathized with and liked this man, 
and herein lay a snare. It was ^a cool visit on 
her side, and after a time he left. Don threw 
herself on a couch and lay as if made of stone; 
at last she groaned: “O, this must end!” as a 
certain flash of the true meaning of this man’s 
frequent calls came to her. “He is making love 
to me and I must stop him. What would Harty 
think! I must write to him and tell him all. I 
never have told my innermost thoughts to any 
one, but he is different, so true; yes, I shall. 1 


Angelward 


319 


must rid myself of some intense thoughts. 
Strange it is for Don Fenwick to be compelled 
to ; but I am changing. I am not half so self- 
reliant as I was. Am I hypnotized? No, I am 
stone. I feel like a marble statue to-night. No, 
I do not feel. Well, I must shut off my whole 
being from this man. Why do I attract him? 
I have not tried to, I ought not to. Why is it 
always old ones? Why is my life so askew? 
There must be a screw loose in me. Well, I 
shall write.” 


Tecumseh, 1902. 

My Dear Doctor : — 

Have you been wondering why I have not 
written? Well, it was not a cosy fire that pre- 
vented me ; no, rather some disturbing forces. 
I have a horror of a patient — a neurasthenic — 
that term conveys a multitude of thoughts — who 
is severely trying my patience ; at least, her 
mother is. No man ever detested his mother-in- 
law as a physician detests the mother of a pa- 
tient. With their over-anxiety they are horrors. 
Ye gods! deliver me; but this is not all — the 
patient’s husband is making love to me ; me I who 
thought herself above this. Well, I am ashamed 
of the affair. All I can say in my defence is that 
I have not encouraged him, nor in the first place 
done anything purposely to attract him. If I 
have attracted him it has been unconsciously. All 
he has so far done has been to caress my hand, 
play with my stray locks and say a few sweet 
things; but that is all too much. I feel like 
stone. We women are instinctive beings. As 


320 


Angelward 


the moth curls itself up and resembles the shrub 
on which it lies, for the time being hiding its 
brilliant colors from the fascinated enemies and 
showing only a dark, unlovely view of itself, so 
must we women hide our charms; as the clam 
draws itself within its shell, so do we hide our- 
selves behind a cold exterior and freeze ourselves 
to the very core. We instinctively scent danger 
and attempt to ward it off, by coldness of man- 
ner. Maybe at times we hover around the fire 
like the silly moth, but in the main we exert the 
law of self-preservation. I like the man, but 1 
do not love him. I know he is unhappily mar- 
ried and to be pitied; but why is he — cause and 
effect? I must not encourage him in any way. 
For a long time I have not had any such experi- 
ences and I fancied my day over; but they come 
when one least expects them. This is a new 
thing for me to tell such in confidence, but I 
know that I can trust you. 

***** sis * 

Believe me, yours sincerely, 

Don ALDA Fenwick. 

Erie, 1902. 

My Dear Doctor : — 

You have indeed been in the centre of dis- 
turbing influences. As regards your friend, I 
would simply allow things to go on as they are. 
No harm has been done, and I know you are 
true to the core. I would have acted as you 
have done, at least I think so. The law of self- 
preservation is strong within us all. We are all 
like moths at times, flitting near the flame. Well, 


Angelward 


321 


life is a series of such, one cannot escape such, 
but the sin is alone in being burned. Eton’t get 
burned and it will only be a study in human na- 
ture for you. I am sorry that your patient is 
such a horror. The world is full of them, but 
that is part of the disease. As a whole we ex- 
pect too much from them. Their minds are 
often more effected than their bodies. 

jK ♦ ♦ ♦ * * 

Yours sincerely, 

E. Hartz. 

‘Well, he does not think me awful, but he can 
use his reason and is not carried off by senti- 
ment and conventionalities. What are they for? 
Why, the world’s prison fetters! Needful? Yes. 
Well, I must watch my feet,” and Don sat down 
and made out some accounts 


322 


Angelward 


CHAPTER XLIIL 

Don was summoned late one evening to see 
Mrs. Richmond, who was said to be seriously ill. 
On her arrival she at once took in the state of 
affairs and acted accordingly. Mrs Richmond 
was lying in bed as if unconscious ; her mother 
was bending over her and her husband was 
standing at the foot of the bed in a perfectly 
helpless-looking condition, as is the way of man 
when he is at a loss to understand woman and 
her ways, and also when he is torn between sym- 
pathy and contempt for her actions. Frankie 
was lying in his night dress on a couch, holding 
a tiny pet dog in his arms and sobbing to him- 
self. The nurse stood back from the group with 
her hands folded in front of her, a nurse’s posi- 
tion when not engaged. Don gave one swift 
glance and then turning to the nurse said, “Have 
you a report to make ?” 

“No, Doctor; I am dismissed.” 

“Why! how is this?” and Don looked inquir- 
ingly at Mrs. Spencer and Judge Richmond. 

The former quickly replied : “No, she is not ; 
but she was killing my daughter, rubbing her to 
death.” 

“Did I not leave such orders?” 

“I don’t care. Common sense must be used.” 

“I shall hear Miss Forbes’ version,” and Don 


Angelward 


323 


turned to the nurse, who briefly told her how the 
case had been taken out of her hands, and that 
she had only remained until the Doctor would 
arrive. After hearing her statement, Don walked 
over to the patient and said in a nowise gentle 
voice: “Mrs. Richmond, what is up now?” The 
latter slowly opened her eyes and regarded her 
coldly, but did not deign to make an answer. 
Don felt her pulse, noted her respiration and 
temperature and surveyed her general appear- 
ance, and then turning to those standing around 
she said: “It is just what I have expected for 
the last few weeks — a hysterical manifestation 
brought on alone by meddling interference from 
relatives.” 

“It’s the medicine you have given. It is too 
strong,” and the mother burst out crying and 
sank down into a chair sobbing, “O, she’ll die!” 

“Mrs. Spencer, will you leave the room ?” 

“No, I will not. You want to kill her. I never 
did have any faith in women doctors. It is all 
nonsense trusting to them. We’ll go back to 
our old doctor, for he at least will do no harm.” 
Turning on her Don said : “No harm has been 
done save by yourself, Mrs. Spencer. The case 
was progressing very favorably until you arrived 
and since then all has gone wrong. I shall dis- 
continue my visits at once. You may call in some 
one else, and I fancy Miss Forbes intends to 
do likewise. I can do nothing further for the 
patient under the circumstances. Good-even- 
hig,” and she walked out of the patient’s room. 
Mrs. Spencer followed and turning indignantly 


324 


Angelward 


to her said: *'How dare you? You cannot give 
up a case.” 

“Yes, when I see that my visits are of no bene- 
fit to the patient.” 

“But, Doctor, I always did have confidence in 
you. You always told us really what was the 
matter and we trusted you even if you were a 
stranger and we knew nothing of you.” 

“If a stranger, I am a graduate of a regularly 
qualified school, which does not turn out quacks ; 
and furthermore you never did trust me ; Mrs. 
Richmond did, but you never did, and she does 
not now owing to your insinuations.” 

“Well, we can go back to Dr. Blair; he at least 
can do no harm.” 

Don was angry, so she said: “Well, as far 
as I can judge by former remarks of your 
daughter and yourself, you blame Dr. Blair for 
her present condition. You do not know what it 
is to be consistent ; but instead of me laying any 
blame on the Doctor, I would say that all lies at 
your own door. When patients and their friends 
know more than the Doctor, he is helpless to do 
any good.” 

“What! what! You mean to say that I have 
killed my own child?” and the angry, excited 
woman burst out into a fit of uncontrollable 
weeping. “I never was so insulted before. 
George, come here at once.” The Judge had re- 
mained in the background all this time; but be- 
fore he came into the hall Don passed down the 
stairs. Just as she reached the l^ttom step Mrs. 
Spencer called after her in an indignant tone: 
“Well, as you are so stubborn, all that we require 


Angelward 


325 


of you is that you will send in your bill at once.” 
Don passed on without replying, and she heard 
the Judge say, “You have abused Dr. Fenwick 
sufficiently for one day,” and he came down the 
stairs. Don hurried on, saying to herself : “O, 
that’s off my mind and I feel free ; but one hates 
to lose a case and it might have meant much. 
Well, she will die, for no one can do anything 
for her if that mother is around.” 


326 


Angelward 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

The autumn was deepening into winter and 
Tecumseh was again frost-bound. The skating 
rink was reopened and the society doings were 
again on, but Don took very little share in them, 
for she was so much engrossed in her work that 
she did not feel the same desire for them. She 
was not quite so busy as far as professional 
cases were concerned — there had been a rush for 
a short time. Medicine knows no moderation ; it 
is either rush or stagnation ; but she was reading 
a great deal, trying to solve some knotty prob- 
lems. These periods of rest are needful if the 
practitioner is to profit by his experience. She 
had not heard anything concerning her patient. 
Once Nancy had mentioned her, but Don had 
not encouraged her and the subject had been 
dropped. The Judge she had met on the street 
several times. She knew that the treatment she 
had received was none of his doings, and al- 
though she thought that he might have spoken 
up on that day, still she thoroughly understood 
his position, and she therefore excused his si- 
lence. It was a very stormy evening and she had 
robed herself in a tea-gown of blue cashmere, 
which suited her fair complexion and brown 
hair, and had seated herself by the fire-place, 
where a bright fire burned, for an evening’s quiet 


Angelward 


327 

read, when the door opened and a man’s voice 
said, “Good-evening, Doctor.” 

“Why, Judge Richmond !” Don exclaimed, 
wondering to herself what had brought him out 
on such a night. “Could it be that she was being 
sent for again?” 

“You are surprised to see me? Well, no won- 
der, it is a beastly night; but I was down street 
and I thought that I would run in and settle that 
account. I am not afraid of storms; sometimes 
those outside are not so bad as those within. 
Well, we have not seen each other for such a 
long time, I just had to come. Am I intruding?” 
and he looked at her dress and work. 

“No, I shall make out the account if you wish 
it,” Don replied in a very business-like tone. 

“If I am I shall go; but. Doctor,” and he ad- 
vanced towards her, “you look lovely to-night. 
Yes, you do,” as he saw Don’s Icok of disap- 
proval. “Yes you do. The account was only an 
excuse, although I want it settled. What are 
you reading ?” 

“ 'When Knighthood Was in Flower.’ For a 
change I must have something light. I have 
been dipping down into heavy reading lately.” 

“You will like it. It will just suit you.” 

“Why, may I ask?” 

“I liked it and you will like it. It is a lovely 
love story.” 

“And you think that I like love stories?” 

“Certainly.” 

“Why?” 

“O, I know !” 

“You are provoking.” 


328 


Angelward 


‘‘No, but I can read you like a book/^ 

“Some books have sealed pages.” 

“You have not.” 

“I am supposed by my most intimate friends 
to be very hard to read.” 

“They have not the right key.” 

“What am I like, then?” and Don looked in- 
terested. 

“O, I cannot tell you now, not till things are 
different.” 

Don turned towards the fire and gave it a poke, 
and then said: “Will you have a seat while I 
make out the account?” and she turned towards 
the desk. 

“Yes, thank you, I will take a seat; but you sit 
down here, too.” 

“No,” and Don took her seat at the secretary 
and made out the account. 

“You are obstinate,” and he walked over and 
leaned against her desk. When she had finished 
it he took her hand and she arose — she knew not 
why — and he led her over to her seat by the 
fire, and then taking one beside her he handed 
her a book. “I want you to read this.” 

“I cannot accept it.” 

“Why not? Surely I can give you an occa- 
sional book.” 

“It is not right under the present circum- 
stances. Thank you, but I cannot accept it.” 

“Absurd,” and he laid it down on a small 
table, and then leaning towards her said : “Doc- 
tor, this is lovely. I thought that you would be 
in to-night and I could not resist the tempta- 
tion.” 


Angelward 


329 


am never sure of being in.” 

^‘No, I suppose so; but surely no one would 
call you out to-night?” 

‘‘I do not object to going out in storms.” 

“It must be hard.” 

“No.” 

“You are brave. Is it not hard, though ? Life 
is, anyway.” 

“At times. The hardest thing I have to put 
up with is woman’s prejudice against her own 
sex 

“Why is it so?” 

“O, ignorance, I think; but it is most discour- 
aging! I fancy it is because these same women 
have not confidence in themselves and fancy that 
other women are as ignorant as they themselves. 
The business woman has not such implicit faith 
in man and has more in woman than the woman 
who has not faced the world for herself but has 
seen it through another. Man is to her a mighty 
factor while woman is weak; but if she knew 
him otherwise she would see that he has weak- 
nesses also and that some women have more 
strength. I do not wish to run man down, but 
I do claim that he is not the only strong factor. 
Then there is sex attraction, always has been and 
always will be while so much stress is placed on 
the diiferences. One becomes almost disheart- 
ened at times at woman’s indifference to her 
present condition. I believe that man has done 
more to draw her up out of the slough than she 
ever desired. She is too passive.” 

“You are aggressive.” 

“I know it, and sometimes I say, what is the 


/ 

I 

I 


/ 


330 


Angelward 


use of such a waste of energy? Time alone will 
tell though.” 

“You are a brave little woman and I can assure 
you that I for one admire you. I must not 
impose on you any longer this evening.” He 
arose, and as they stood in front of the fire-place 
he looked down on her and took both of he^ 
hands in his and said: “Now, if you would 
rather that I did not come again, say so, and I 
think that I am man enough not to do so. I do 
not want to annoy you. Now, shall I or shall T 
not? Do you mind?” If he was man enough 
Don was woman enough to fail herself in this 
crisis — she was not her true self, the woman for 
an emergency, but rather the woman longing for 
companionship. She half faltered an answer 
which she hardly knew herself and which her 
companion took to mean that she would rather 
that he came again. “Yes you would,” and he 
shook her hand tenderly and left. She remained 
standing, and at last moaned as if in pain: “O, 
what have I done? I should have said ‘no.’ I 
do not want him, but, O, I am so weak!” and 
she sank down on her seat and covered her face 
with her hands, and did not weep; no, Don was 
going through an experience which did not draw 
tears from her eyes but dry anguish from her 
heart. She felt that she had been playing with 
fire and that she had at least been singed. If 
she had known this man as she knew herself 
she would have been sure of her path. Don was 
a sympathetic being, though her most intimate 
friends did not give her credit for it. The}/- 
rather admired than loved her, thought her clever 


Angfxward 


331 


but hard. To them she showed the full strength 
of her character more than she did to strangers, 
who therefore thought her lovable and sweet. To 
Don to be called sweet was tantamount to being 
considered inane and stupidly fascinating. Her 
whole soul revolted against it. She often re- 
marked to herself, after hearing such applied to 
herself : ‘T wish that I were as old as Methusa- 
leh, as big as an elephant and as hideous as a 
rhinoceros, and then people might judge me 
correctly. I am not sweet, but as sour as vinegar 
at times’’ To her friends she could be a very 
granite boulder for firmness, but to strangers she 
was different; she took less interest in them and 
did not see the necessity of interfering in their 
affairs; but in this case she did sympathize with 
this man, and yet she was not her old strong 
self. What was the reason? It is one thing to 
love with blood love, family love in which pride 
of race is concerned, and another to love with a 
passionate soul love — one is a reasoning love, 
the other an unreasoning love. In the latter case 
we can love the foolish, the weak, throw our very 
lives away for them and demand little in return, 
“crown the long-eared ass” and feel proud of 
him. It is the object, it is love we are in love 
with, else there would be “fewer such corona- 
tions” and less happiness in life. Love veils the 
object, and wisely so, at times, for if not many 
a limping Jack would miss his loving Jennie. 
Don felt drawn to this man. She knew the cir- 
cumstances of his life, at present at least, and 
he was not a “long-eared ass,” but a man of 
ability, appearance and manner to attract any 


332 


Angelward 


woman. She hated to hurt his feelings. Maybe 
an extra smart now would be less torturous 
than the inevitable one later on, but so few of 
us take the future into consideration; we live 
for the present, foolishly so at times. It is not 
alone for prophets to do so. We may all be 
seers, for every cause has its effect, and al- 
though we may not be able to distinctly see the 
end, we can have an inkling of it sufficient to 
warn us. Had she been convinced for one mo- 
ment that he was bad she would have at once 
scorned him; but she could not believe him such 
— was it the veil? — but rather she sympathized 
with his lot, and this made her weak. She de- 
tested pity in her own case for its weakening 
effect; but still she could tolerate it for another. 
We all have some of the Great Father Spirit in 
us, we love to cuddle, fondle and pet others. In 
the goodness of her heart she did not want to, 
in fact, could not spurn him. She was willing 
to run any risk in order to save him more suffer- 
ing. In the case of a relative she would have 
said, “Suffering will make you stronger,” but in 
his case she wished to shield him from pain; she 
was willing to suffer herself, if only by it life 
might be less of an agony to him. Strange, this 
woman nature. Then, there was another thing. 
She liked him; yes, loved him; she felt it grow- 
ing in her ; it was not therefore all unselfish, for 
she would be denying herself if she threw him 
off; and was she strong enough for this? The 
restrictions of society were at this time as fetters 
to the affections and actions of Donalda Fen- 
wick. She felt their use, but was not just will- 


Angelward 


333 


ing to acknowledge their rightfulness in binding 
us — “Prisoners of Hope.” As the criminal is 
alone safe behind his iron bars, so is the ordinary 
man alone safe behind the fetters of social cus- 
toms and conventions. The more advanced he is 
in civilization the greater number of these re- 
strictions are there surrounding his every act. 
What has civilization done for man? It has 
made him a civilized being with all its advantages 
and disadvantages, and one may well say at times 
what were the use of it all, for dust to dust and 
ashes to ashes is all that remains? The world 
is one huge prison with a large playground, in 
which many tragedies and comedies are played ; 
it has its cells for the lower classes; its better 
apartments for the higher; but each state has 
its restrictions. To any one of Don’s views she 
stands on a giddy peak, ready on the instant to 
fly Heavenward; but just as liable at some un- 
prepared moment — “we are no stronger than our 
weakest point” — to descend Hellward; able the 
sooner to again arise; but all the same prone to 
fall. Don hated the social restrictions which 
make friendship with a man an impossibility; 
she chafed at them; she hated the weak, more- 
animal-than-human people who made them 
necessary, and at times she resolved to be free; 
it was not so much for herself that she feared, 
but for those dear to her, who would not be able 
to judge her actions and the motives which 
prompted them by her view. She could turn the 
brightest searchlight on and say, “I am right,” 
but they could not, and to them it would mean 
heartaches if she left the narrow path of con- 


334 


Angelward 


ventional life. No, she must not do as she wished, 
but as others willed. Duty must guide her. 
Which is the Law of Life, Love or Duty? Love, 
yes, if Love and Duty be one; but if not. Duty; 
but Duty must be Love. Duty is right; Love is 
right. If Life were what it should be, yes; but 
what we in our ignorance blindly call Love is not 
what we clearly see to be Duty. Don loved this 
man ; but Don saw her Duty, and it was or should 
be the Law of Life to her. “What am I to do? 
Is it wrong? Are we not here to assist one an- 
other? Is it better to cast off this man, let him 
go his way and I go mine? He ought to be 
strong and able to bear his own burden; but is 
he? It is easy to preach. We are all great 
preachers but poor practitioners. I do not care 
for Public Opinion ; no, I do not,” and she almost 
stamped her foot. “It is he I am thinking of ; 
one hates to throw a human being aside when 
he longs for your sympathy; and yet, yet, O 
God! what is best? Why can we not be like a 
lot of little children. He Tommy Dodd, and I, 
Kitty King, as children may tell each other our 
woes ; but Mr. Dodd married may not confide in 
Miss King. There is a purpose in it all; but — . 
I shall, I must, explain to him, that it cannot be. 
I must be brave and be in very truth a help to 
him. I often gaze down on the masses and feel 
contempt for them ; but are they not happier than 
I? ‘To whom much is given much is required.’ 
Mother and even Amy would, in this case, not 
be tempted, for then Faith would keep them firm. 
I have no such Faith ; Reason is my guide, and 
it surrounds me with gulfs and abysses, which 


Angelward 


335 


they in their blind adherence to custom can never 
experience. This glimpse of Heaven’s light — 
Reason — if misdirected, misinterpreted, leads 
one astray. Life is complex,” and she rested her 
head wearily on her hand and looked wistfully 
into the fire, which was slowly dying. 


336 


Angelward 


CHAPTER XLV. 

A week later Judge Richmond called again; 
but as soon as he had taken a seat Don said in a 
rather shaky voice — she attempted to control it 
but failed — ^^You asked me the last time you 
were here if I would rather you did not come, 
and I have since decided it is better that you 
do not/' 

“Then I shall not come; I don't wish to do 
anything that you do not wish." 

“It is best not ; it is not right for you to come." 

“It is right ; but " 

“No, it is not.' 

“Pdrdon me, it is; but I shall do just as you 
wish. There is no danger." 

“Yes, there is; and moreover you know it is 
not right and that is my reason." 

“I do not understand your reason, but I will 
not come again," and he arose and taking her 
hand said: “If at any time you need me, send 
for me. I love you." 

“You should not." 

“I cannot help it; can you blame me?" 

“I am not supposed to be a judge." 

“You are ; you cannot but know that I cannot 
but love you. Good-bye," and he passed out of 
the room, and Don stood still with her hands 
clasped in front of her, and then, as his retreat- 


Angelward 


337 


ing footsteps died away, she suddenly smiled 
and said triumphantly: “It is done at last. I 
am sorry for him, but it is better so. Do I really 
love him ? Have not his attentions merely 
pleased me?” 


338 


Angelward 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

As Dr. Fenwick had not been home since com- 
ing to Tecumseh, she decided to go home for a 
few days, and on her wav there to call at Erie 
and see Dr. Hartz — she would remain over from 
one train until the next, and if he were not busy 
txiey could enjoy a good taiK, such as they had 
often longed for; so with a glad heart she 
boarded the noon train and arrived in Erie at 
three o'clock. Alighting from the train she took 
a car and asked to be put off at Dr. Hartz's 
office. She had not told him that she was com- 
ing, as she wanted to meet him unexpectedly and 
take him by surprise. The car stopped, she 
picked up her grip and passed out and up the 
steps to the office. An old man, whom she sup- 
posed must be his father, was in the office; and 
on her asking if Dr. Hartz were in, he gruffly 
replied: “No, he ain't, but he’ll be back 'fore 
long. Ye’d better take a seat.” Thanking him, 
she sat down, saying to herself : “Just as I 
, thought, plebeian. No, I am not disappointed, 
for 1 hardly dared expect it to be otherwise ; but 
I had hoped,” and she gave a sigh. The old 
man looked up and said, “Peelin' poorly?” 

“No, O, no ! I was only thinking.” 

“Friends dead?” as he looked at her black 
costume. 

“No.” 

“Somethin' up or ye wouldn’t sigh; young 


Angelward 


339 


folks don’t; but Eddie’ll fix ye up. He’s the 
boy ! Man, but he’s done well ! He’s the best 
doctor in Erie; but he’s had a hard time with 
them all fightin’ agin him; but he’s game for 
’em; he just pitches in. He’s the boy!” and the 
old man chuckled to himself. A large, fat, pug- 
dog had arisen from a nap in the corner and 
came over towards Don ; she stooped and patted 
him and thus hid the disgust which she could 
not prevent coming into her face. “Horrors! 
are they as bad as this? He is to be pitied. 
Shall I remain or shall I go on ?” Just then she 
heard a quick footstep and a young man burst 
into the room, and seeing her said, “Just in a 
minute,” and disappeared into his consulting- 
room. “That is he, and he is the fair man. I 
thought that I had seen him before. Why, he 
was the man of my dream!” 

He emerged from the inner room and rubbing 
his hands and looking at her said: “Will you 
walk inside.” She followed him in. She had 
always intended to take him by surprise, but she 
had always fancied that she would be unable 
to keep her countenance and that laughingly she 
would betray her identity ; but there was no temp- 
tation to do so ; in fact, she had half a mind to 
not make herself known, but rather give some 
vague symptoms, pay her fee and go on uni- 
dentified; but then they might meet later on. 
She was disappointed ; this was not the “Harty” 
of her dreams, the idealized Harty. No, she had 
had her awakening and she was disappointed. 
She had known that he had been a poor boy, but 
she had never realized that he was sprung from 


340 


Angelward 


such, and she almost shuddered. She was dis- 
tinctly aristocratic, try as she would to be demo- 
cratic; but she was no snob; still, she could not 
place herself on his level. What a mercy that I 
did not write more loye to him! O, what a 
mercy that he did not fall in love with me!” 
With these thoughts flashing through her mind 
she sat down. He sat opposite to her and said, 
“What ails you?” 

“O ! nothing much. I am a bit tired.” 

“So I should judge,” and he looked keenly at 
her. “Not happy?” 

“Yes, as the world goes.” 

“But do you think the world happy?” 

“Fairly so.” 

“Your experience then has been different from 
mine.” 

“Possibly.” 

“Have you no symptoms?” and he looked im- 
patiently at the clock, evidently taking her for 
some troublesome neurotic. 

“Only one.” 

“What is it?” 

“Myself.” 

“I do not understand you.” 

“Discover it and you will then know all.” 

“How am I to if you do not give me some 
clue?” and he looked interested for the moment, 
thinking that he had discovered some psycholog- 
ical freak. 

“It is pathonomonic.” 

‘Where did you get yOur medical terms?” 

“Any one may consult medical literature,” and 
her eyes sparkled. “Surely he would guess.” ^ 


Angelward 


341 


"You have been dabbling in medicine?^’ 

"Yes, if you so call it.” 

"Have you?” 

"Dabbling? No, hardly, but ” 

"You are tantalizing. You say you are the 
symptom.” 

"To be diagnosed. What am I?” 

"A puzzle.” 

"Who and what else?” 

"I give it up.” 

"I thought you a mind reader.” 

"Why did you?” 

"I heard, I ” 

"You heard?” 

"Yes; you are reputed to be a wizard.” 

"A wizard! Only one person calls me that,” 
and then glancing keenly at her for a moment 

he said: "Are you ?” 

"What am I?” 

"I fancied for a moment you were, but, O, 


no 


I” 


"I fancy that we have wasted sufficient time; 
to tell the truth, I am tired and I want a tonic. 
I am just passing through and I thought, having 
heard of you, that I would call and get some 
medicine from you,” and Don gave him a fuil 
list of symptoms, paid her fee and walked to the 
station. "I am glad I did not disclose my iden- 
tity. We are poles apart and may never meet, and 
what’s the odds ? Ugh ! he repels me. I was 
idealistically attracted to the creation of my 
brain and not to this real creature. I shall con- 
tinue to write, but it will end as other ‘Ships 
that pass in the night.’ ” 


342 


Angelward 


CHAPTER XLVII. 

Don impatiently waited the seven o’clock train. 
When it did come steaming into the station, she 
hurriedly picked up her grip and boarded it, 
finding a seat all to herself, although all the rest 
seemed to be occupied. After making herself 
comfortable, she looked out of the window and 
could see on the brightly lighted platform several 
persons ; two young men stood near her window, 
and as one of them turned towards the car she at 
once recognized him as the “fair man.” “The 
villain pursues me !” She quickly drew down the 
curtain. The train began to move and she was 
just saying to herself: “He is no mind reader; 
his spiritualism, mysticism, is all auto-sugges- 
tion, nothing more; in my case he had no idea 
of whom I am; if I had given him a clue, his 
imagination would have run riot and have lit 
on me; but, no, he could not read me.” Just 
as she had settled herself and was indulging in 
this train of thought, a young man walked down 
the aisle and seeing an empty seat beside her, 
said : “Is this seat occupied ?” 

“No,” and she removed a book which lay on 
it. He sat down, drew his overcoat closely 
around him and shivered. Don looked at him 
and smiled. It was rare for her to even look at 
much less speak to a stranger on the train. “You 


Angelward 


343 


are wondering why I am shivering? Well, I 
stood on the platform until I was chilled. 
Beastly cold weather!” 

“Yes, indeed ; it seems so much colder here 
than farther south. It was not nearly so cold 
in Tecumseh.” 

“You live in Tecumseh?” 

“I have for the last year.” 

“Do you like it?” 

“Fairly. From a business point of view it is 
all right; but it lacks much in the intellectual 
aspect, and as Huron was formerly my home, I 
miss the university and its advantages.” 

“A teacher,” thought the young man. “Yes, 
I suppose you will; towns like Tecumseh are 
not very interesting or aspiring.” 

“No, indeed; one does not meet the latest 
thought; she is compelled to keep her ideas to 
herself and apparently fall in line with those 
with whom she associates. It is only occasion- 
ally that she meets with a kindred spirit. These 
people may listen to your views, but they cannot 
comprehend them and they misjudge you. I 
cannot tolerate bigotry, and they in one way or 
another are bigots. They cannot apprehend that 
there is some truth in everything, in every re- 
ligion there is a germ of truth. If Kipling's 
Kim does nothing more than give this impression 
concerning Buddhiem and Brahmanism, he will 
have accomplished much.” 

“You are a Kiplingite?” 

“No, I cannot claim that distinction. I ad- 
mire his accuracy; it is wonderful; while I am 
reading his works I feel as if I am being carried 


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along through some glorious pageant or series of 
events; I am fascinated, attracted; but when I 
have completed the novel I feel unsatisfied, a 
hunger unappeased, and I say to myself, what 
has held me, and whither has the attraction 
flown? Do you feel so?’’ 

“No, I cannot say I do.” 

“It may be my own fault; but, yes, I have 
heard others say the same. I know that men, as 
a rule, admire Kipling ; but they, perhaps, do not 
demand a lasting memory as a woman does; 
women live on memories; but men are always 
looking forward. Give a woman a pleasure and 
it will last her a long time; but a man forgets 
it and demands a new one.” 

“You have studied human nature?” 

“Yes ; is it not so?” 

“I am rather ignorant of the woman question; 
I have never been thrown much in their com- 
pany. My education has been sadly neglected 
in this respect,” and he laughed. 

“You take it happily.” 

“What else can I do?” 

“You will have to think on it; they are com- 
ing to the front.” 

“Yes, in every way; some are even enter- 
ing the professions; even some are studying 
medicine.” Don looked at him to ascertain if he 
had any inkling ; but seeing no sign, she laughed 
and said: “Yes, a few. The women are coming 
out of their hiding-places and it is right that they, 
should. They must be educated.” 

“Did not our grandmothers make good enougl^ 
wives and housekeepers?” 


Angelward 


345 


they worked by the rule of thumb and 
made awful errors, half killing themselves, their 
children and their husbands.” 

“What an awful accusation!” 

“True; but the present woman, with a training 
in Domestic Science will not commit so many 
unconscious errors. I am a veritable crank on 
this subject.” He did not reply as so many, 
many men whom she knew would have, “You 
a crank! Impossible!” and have laughed away 
her woman’s logic; but, instead, he said in a 
perfectly honest, frank voice: “Yes, you are 
right”; and she said to herself, “He is a sensi- 
ble man.” “Yes, you are right; you do appear 
to have thought; few women do.” 

“More than you think ; but they are compelled 
to keep their thoughts to themselves or be mis- 
understood.” 

“And reviled?” 

“Yes.” 

You are brave to have opinions. And so you 
think that Brahmanism and Buddhism have 
truth in them?” 

“Do you not?” 

“Certainly.” 

“I am fearfully heterodox; I cannot believe 
in the teachings of orthodoxy; in fact, I do not 
believe in a future existence for me. Life is 
immortal, but not the individual.” 

“One cannot but doubt if he thinks. It is alone 
those who blindly accept, who can take it all as 
it stands; no thinking person can; every one 
must think it out for himself. As you say, there 
are more women with opinions than one dreams 


34<5 


Angelward 


of ; so also there are more men with advanced 
religious views than one has any idea of. The 
inner mind in many is not the outer mind; a 
man dare not always live his thoughts. Business 
reasons may prevent him ; he is compelled to use 
discretion; many would at once term him as an 
infidel. One may not go contrary to public opin- 
ion and not suffer terribly, and we, none of us, 
are aiming at being martyrs; flaming faggots, 
smoking stake and singeing flesh are not to our 
taste; there is sufficient martyrdom without in- 
viting more.’’ 

“You do not then encourage bravery?” 

“Bravery, yes ; but not bravado. A brave man 
suffers in private ; a fanatic in public.” 

“The views of the masses are only a Santa 
Claus stage of a true belief ; they are the chil- 
dren ; we are the grown-ups.” 

“Yes; but do you not feel at times as if you 
are in doubt, as if it is after all not worth the 
time and thought? Whence came I, where am 
I, whither goest I? What does it all amount 
to?” 

“I often feel the uselessness of it, and yet I 
am so materialistic — I do not consider myself a 
materialist in the sense ordinarily understood, 
which is not a true one — that I feel I have a 
strong rock to cling to. I am fully convinced 
that this life ends all for me individually, but not 
for the race; Influence is Immortal.” 

“You are a Buddhist.” 

“Yes; he s^es his own individual end; but the 
sum total of the good he has accomplished will 
make life easier for the coming, sentient beings, 


Angelward 


347 


who in their turn will do the same for others; 
so also with his evil. He makes an angel, so to 
speak, or a devil; a better human being or a 
lower animal. Brahmanism is too mystical, but 
it has its germ of truth. Its transmigration of 
souls and at last perfection for the individual be- 
ing, when .he passes away I cannot understand. 
I have no Nirvana or Heaven except just here. 
Its Llamas are, in my opinion, persons with a 
great subjective mind — development. Have you 
taken any interest in spiritualism?’' 

“No, it is all fake.” 

“An honest fake.” 

“Yes, but fake all the same; those photos and 
slate-writings are all such.’ 

“To me it is exaggerated auto-suggestion, a 
working of the subjective mind independently of 
the objective; there is no object present to be 
perceived by the sense, but it exists purely in 
the imagination.” 

“Yes.” 

“I have a fr — an acquaintance,” and Don 
gave a slight shiver. 

“Are you cold?” 

“O, no! As I was saying, I know one, and I 
have occasionally wondered if he were not 
slightly insane. It is difficult to know just where 
sanity begins and insanity ends. I often won- 
der if we, any of us, are really sane.” 

“Genius, you know?” 

“No doubt tinged. This person whom I was 
mentioning strikes me at times as if on the bor- 
der-land. He says that he spends his leisure 
with his friends in other spheres ; but I am fully 


Angelward 


348 

convinced that he does so in his imagination 
alone; he cuts himself free from all surround- 
ings, closes his senses and fastens his mind on 
a subject and thinks and imagines on it until it 
becomes a real thing to him. Moon made of 
green cheese, that is all. These people have 
great powers of concentration, increased by 
practice.” 

“Yes, you are correct there. Life is a queer 
heterogeneous, complex conglomeration with no 
key to its solution. We are here to-day, away 
to-morrow. We shall be miles apart to-morrow, 
and it is not of our own doing; same thing as 
fore-ordination, not by any free-will action of 
our own; we try to believe that we are the 
masters of our own destinies, but it is all a 
delusion; we fondly imagine we have our finger 
in the making of our own little pie ; but we have 
not, we are cheating ourselves.” 

“You mean that circumstances have ordained 
it, not a God?” 

“Not a God in the sense of a Personal Being; 
yes, circumstances, natural law, cause and effect. 
The sky was a parched ocean of ether last sum- 
mer; this season it is a soaked sponge, continu- 
ally, on the least provocation, pouring forth 
bucketfuls of water. People wonder why it is. 
They will be praying to a God to stop the rain. 
As well may the Chinese burn his roll of paper 
prayers. It is all cause and effect and not the 
intervention of a Deity.’ 

“Yes, I understand you.” 

“How came you to bother your brain about 
this? Most people do not.” 


Angelward 


. 349 


From the tirne I was knee-high-to-a-grasshop- 
per I have thought and have kept on thinking. 
Life would be dull without it.” 

‘*1 agree with you, but most people do not 
think so.” 

“No, they blame us for drinking, eating and 
being merry for to-morrow is not; but the truth 
is we do the thinking for to-morrow and they 
do the living for to-day.” 

“Talking of spiritualism, I just parted from 
one in Erie; but that is not what I was going to 
say. He was telling me of a lady friend — a 
physician — who is a materialist, and how he 
longs to convert her.” 

“That man you were talking to on the plat- 
form when you got chilled?” 

“Yes; did you see him?” 

“Yes,” and to herself she said, “The lady 
friend is I.” 

“I have known him for some time; I like the 
fellow; but like yourself, I cannot go spiritual- 
ism. He declares that he is a mind reader; but 
he was puzzled to-day. A young lady called 
and attempted, and successfully, too, to puzzle 
him, and he could not at all discover her reason 
for doing so. Of course he blamed his negative 
or positive element, I forget which; but that is 
the way with them all, when they are stuck for a 
reason. He has a very good opinion of himself, 
but he is no cleverer than he thinks he is. I often 
tell him to come down from off the perch, but it 
is of no use.” 

“And so he desired to convert this materialis- 
tic doctor,” and she laughed. “If she is as much 


350 


Angelward 


satisfied with her creed as I am he has a difficult 
task to perform.” 

''Yes, it is something more tangible, however 
more beautiful his may be.” 

"A beautiful delusion, a happy state of a mild 
monomania. Well, here we are!” and Don 
picked up her belongings. 

"I am glad that we have met; I have enjoyed 
your company.” 

"So have I;. but ever in response to circum- 
stances we must each go on his way. Good- 
bye I” and she held out her hand. 

"Good-bye ! My name is Burgess.” 

"And mine is Fenwick.” 

"Not Dr. Fenwick!” 

"Yes.” 

"This is mean of you,” and before she could 
reply the train had whirled away with her 
whilom companion. "Dr. Hartz must have told 
him my name. Why did I not give an assumed 
one? How funny, though!” 


Angelward 


351 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

On her return from Huron Don found a letter 
awaiting her from Dr. Hartz, as she now always 
called him. Harty had lived, but was now dead and 
buried in the dim, dark recesses of her memory. 
Fickle Don, you may say ; no, disappointed Don ; 
Don, who had conjured up a beautiful romance, 
which must necessarily be dispelled. It was all 
her own fault that it had been built; he had 
given hints as to his status in society, but she 
had ignored them, and had gone on creating her 
Prince Charming out of a common man. Such 
transformations may take place in tairy tales, 
but they do not occur in real life. The woman 
who marries such a man, having blinded herself 
to all his faults, cannot always remain in such 
ignorance; the scales will fall off her eyes 
and he will stand revealed before her as he 
really is. Don had thrown a glamor over this 
man, doing him thereby an injustice; for she 
now felt like blaming him, when she saw him 
as he really existed. She could not but admire 
him, but it was in an altogether different man- 
ner from that in which she had previously. He 
might now be a good, honest man for some one 
else; but she, Donalda Fenwick, did not want 
him. ‘'O, horrors! No, I have been hypno- 
tized. I fancied that no one could so influence me, 


352 


Angelward 


and here I have been! He gave the suggestion 
and I followed it up. Yes, hypnotized, without 
a doubt; not for a moment, but for days, weeks, 
months! I always have been queer, but this is 
the queerest. What mortals we do be! I shall 
answer this letter, but I shall not be confiden- 
tial; no, I cannot. My soul formerly flowed 
out to him, but the current is reversed. Shake 
yourself, Don!” and true to her suggestion she 
got up and vigorously shook herself, and then 
laughed at her dishevelled appearance. Some 
one knocked at the door, and hurriedly pinning 
up her hair she opened the door and saw Miss 
Webster standing there, who at once entered as 
if she had some important information to im- 
part. ''Have you ever heard the Scotch divine’s 
definition of a phenomenon?” 

"No.” 

"Well, you know what a cow is, and you know 
what a tree is, but you have never seen a cow 
going up a tree backwards. That’s a phenom- 
enon; but it is nothing to what is occuring at 
The Rattery. Just imagine! The Old Parties 
are going to California for the winter.” 

"What a delightful trip for you!” 

"This is the astounding part of it. I am not 
going.” 

"Not going! Why?” 

"Dinna ken, but I am to be left at "home. Mrs. 
Spencer is stage manager. She and Mrs. Rich- 
mond are going and have invited the Old Par- 
ties.” 

"Mrs. Richmond will never go.” 

"I do not think so, but these are the present 


Angelward 


,353 

plans. I am being left at home because I chum 
with you, do you see? I am glad that I do. 
What a private hospital on wheels for the in- 
sane they will have! Lordy! not one of them 
sound up here.” 

“When do they start?” 

“As soon as Mrs. Richmond is a little 
stronger.” 

“Which will not be soon.” 

“No, you are correct; she looks awful. I do 
pity that man. Well, I must run on ; I had to 
run in and tell you. Tra-la!” 

As soon as Nancy had gone Don sat down and 
wrote to Dr. Hartz a long letter, telling him of 
her visit home and then as usual mentioning 
subjects in practice, interesting to both. She did 
not receive a reply for four weeks, and the letter 
was short and uninteresting and written as if the 
writer felt it a duty instead of a pleasure to do 
so. He said he was loaded up with socialism and 
electricity and could not write before. After 
perusing it Don exclaimed : “H’m ! well, I shall 
wait a few weeks, then reply and say that if he 
desires it the correspondence shall end; I will 
not tolerate such conduct; it is selfish. He is 
insane.” 


Tecumseh, 1902. 

Dear Dr. Hartz : — 

SK * iff * 

I have noticed of late that your letters are 
indeed very uninteresting. You may well say 
that your correspondence has been “kicked into 
a cocked hat.” Now, if you are at all bored by 


354 


Angelward 


my letters, we shall discontinue the correspond- 
ence. I feel sure that you are not now inter- 
ested in it; when a man says he does not know 
what was in my last letter he certainly takes no 
interest in what I write. 

Yours truly, 

D. Fenwick. 


Erie, 1902. 


Dear Dr. Fenwick : — 

R’c’d yours of the — . Your letters do not 
bore me, so do not hesitate to write often. I 
know mine are not interesting, but I am so mixed 
up in electrical and ethereal conditions that I 
cannot write, but you write. 

Yours truly, 

E. Hartz. 


*That settles it!” exclaimed Don. "‘I am to 
be allowed the great privilege of writing to him, 
I am granted the privilege, the permission; well, 
I guess so. That ends it 1 He is not bored, but 
it is too much of a bore to write to me. I like 
the tone of it. The Great Mogul to one of his 
subjects! I may spin my little yarn and he will 
patiently listen. No, never!” and tearing the let- 
ter into a hundred atoms she threw it into the 
grate and set fire to it. “There, that ends it!” 


Angelward 


355 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

After returning to Tecnmseh she did not see 
Judge Richmond for some time, when on Xmas 
Eve he called and gave her a box of candy. 
She could not honestly say that she was sorry to 
see him, for she was glad; but she knew that 
under the circumstances he ought not to come. 
"T could not remain away any longer,” was his 
excuse. “It has nearly killed me.” 

“You do not believe that there is such a word 
as can’t.” 

“I do; there is. If you only knew how I love 
you, you would then understand my desire to 
come.” 

“But it is not right.” 

“It is right.” 

“You cannot prove — ” how easy it was for her 
to say these things; but she no more than he 
wished to believe them! It was the bravado act 
on her part; she was playing a part into the 
spirit of which she could not enter, and he knew 
it. “Why is it right?” 

“I can prove, but I cannot now explain; no, 
not till matters are different for us.” She turned 
the subject, made some comment on the weather, 
for she saw that there was no use arguing the 
right or wrong of their position with him. As 
he arose to leave he said; “You will forgive 
me for coming?” ^ 


356 


Angelward 


^‘Yes, you will. Kiss me before I go.” 

“No!” and she drew herself away. 

“You will some day.” 

“No, never!” and she looked defiant. 

“Do you know,” and he bent his dark eyes on 
her, “that you are the only being on this earth, 
that breathes the breath of life under the canopy 
of heaven whom I love?” At first Don’s eyes 
fell, then her old sense of humor coming to her 
rescue, she said: “What a poetic declaration!” 
and she smiled bewitchingly at him. Such are 
the ways of women. 

“It is the truth, and some day you will know 
it; good-night! May I come again?” but before 
she could reply he passed out. She turned to the 
window and looked out ; it was snowing heavily. 
“Born in a storm and have lived in a storm,” 
she sighed and turned towards the interior of 
the room. “I ought not to allow him to come; 
no, he must not; it is not right; and yet, why is 
it not? Why cannot men and women be friends? 
Why cannot, yes, why cannot they love? Love 
is the Law of Life; but, but Duty? Horrors! 
life is awful. If it were not for my- home I 
would live life as I wish to and brave public 
opinion, and have him for a friend, and, yes, for 
a lover. As long as one lives decently there is 
no harm in it; but there is no freedom on this 
earth ; the good have to suffer for the bad. No, 
he must not come.” Don could not go to sleep 
until late that night, for conflicting thoughts 
flashed through her mind, and on Xmas morning 
she awoke tired and unrefreshed, but with a reso- 


Angelward 


357 


lution formed. The day passed quietly. Nancy 
ran in for a short call, and Don dined with Mr. 
and Mrs. Lawrence. On the following day she 
met the Judge, but only for a moment; and also 
in the same way on the following day. They 
appeared to be fated to meet in this unsatisfac- 
tory way, and having made her resolution she 
wished to have a long talk with him. She had 
fully decided that their friendship must not con- 
tinue. She wished that she could have written 
to him, but a saying of Talleyrand’s, “Only wom- 
en and fools write letters,” prevented her. No one 
ever knows when a letter may tell tales, and tales 
which no explanation can wipe out. The opportu- 
nity arrived a few days later, when one afternoon, 
as she was preparing to go out, he called, and 
seeing her in all her wholesome womanhood, be- 
comingly attired, he hurriedly stepped in front 
of her and was lifting her veil to kiss her, when 
she stepped back. He gave her one piercing 
look and said, “Do you not love me?” Her 
mouth framed a reply, although no sound es- 
caped her lips. “No.” It was a lie, but she 
expressed it thus. He looked more intently at 
her as if to fully make himself believe her or to 
see if she would not smile and bertay herself ; 
but, no, she regarded him coldly. He knew she 
lied, but — he dropped her hand, which he had 
grasped, took one more look at her, and then 
without a word turned and left the room. She 
stood still, where he had left her; then mechan- 
ically drawing on her gloves, her face hard and 
white, she also passed out. She met a young 
woman who lived near, and she passed by with- 


358 


Angelward 


out a sign of recognition. wonder if she 
knows?” Then in going into the Post Office 
another barely bowed. “She must know,” and 
Don almost sighed. “I am too late.” One can 
make herself believe anything. Don felt guilty, 
and she ascribed this disinterestedness of others 
in her to their knowledge of her secret. Her 
secret! Every breath of air is freighted with 
it; every rustling leaf whispers it; every insect 
chirrups it aloud; every dog instinctively feels 
it and sympathizingly follows her; every man 
knows it and despises her ; and every woman will 
use it as a sweet morsel of gossip. Conscience 
is a self-accuser. What is conscience? It is 
reason, and Don's reason told her that if these 
people knew of her guilt they would call it guilt, 
no matter what fancy name she gave it — Pla- 
tonic Love? Yes, she had allowed the affair to 
go too far; she should have nipped the bud be- 
fore. She paid her visits and returned, to eat 
no tea and to spend a wretched evening. The 
following morning she was just going out, when 
the bell rang and there stood the Judge. She 
uttered an exclamation of surprise. 

“Pardon me. Dr. Fenwick, but I must know 
what I have done?” 

“You have done nothing, but this must end.” 

“Very well,” and he turned to go; but Don, 
who really desired to explain, but did not know 
just where to begin — ^^it is so very easy to plan 
what we shall say (in the midnight watches, 
when the ground is all our own) but it is an- 
other thing to face the ordeal in the bright day- 


Angelward 


359 


light — said in a beseeching voice, “You know 
why.” 

‘^No, I do not,” he almost brutally answered ; 
and then facing her awaited further explana- 
tion. 

‘'Do you want me to leave Tecumseh?” 

“Indeed, I do not.” 

“I shall have to if ” 

“There is no danger.” 

“There is.” 

“I shall not come then,” and he walked quickly 
out. 

“Away again without an explanation. I do 
not want to treat him in this way. I must see 
him ; but it is no use ; I cannot explain ; he will 
not accept an explanation ; he is so determined ; 
men are so. Well, it must remain so, but I hate 
misunderstandings ; there is none here ; he knows 
why.” She carried an aching heart that day; 
she loved this man, and she did not want to give 
him pain. “Why is it that I am always giving 
pain ?” 

One week after this Don was making a hur- 
ried evening toilet for a party at Mrs. Law- 
rence’s. She had been busy all evening and now 
it was a quarter of nine and she was not ready. 
She hurriedly arranged her hair; for a wonder 
she did not have trouble with it; then swiftly 
arranged her bodice, a black satin shirt waist 
turned in at the neck, sleeves taken out and 
draped with black chiffon and lace and a dash 
of olive green peeping out here and there. She 
had remodelled it herself. “Yes, Don Fenwick, 
you are a jack-of -all-trades,” as she looked at 


36 o 


Angelward 


herself in the mirror. 'Well, I could not afford 
to get a new gown. If you wish to go you will 
always find a way. It looks fine. Yes, it will 
do. Now, if you can keep this bloom in your 
cheeks; but you always do look fagged before 
the shine is over. Hot rooms are too much for 
you; therefore you should remain at home, and 
between you and me I would much rather do 
so; but one must show herself. I wonder if,” 
and Don stooped to pick a pin from the floor. 
“Crooked, after all my trouble. No, of course 
not, and anyway, well, it does not matter.” 

On entering the drawing-room she spent a 
few minutes in talking to an exceedingly inane 
young man, then Judge Richmond came towards 
her and introduced his neice, when they all 
talked, and then the inane young man asked 
Miss Younge for a dance and Judge Richmond 
carried Don off to the far end of the drawing- 
room, where there were some beautiful palms, 
and finding a seat for her stood close beside 
her. “You look lovely to-night. Yes, you do. 
I am so glad that you came. I have been watch- 
ing for you.” Nancy then came towards them 
in full sail. “Here comes Miss Nan. She al- 
ways devours you. I shall leave. May I call 
soon ?” 

“No,” and Don shook her head. 

He looked at her for one brief moment and 
then said, “I shall call to-morrow,” and then 
turning to Nancy said: “Well, Miss Webster, 
and how are you? I see you have designs on 
the Doctor.” 


Angelward 361 

“Harmless ones, perfectly harmless. Well, 
and our contingent has not gone yet.” 

“No.” 

“I knew it would end so.” 

“Mrs. Richmond is not well enough to go,” 
and he excused himself. 

“I knew that there was no chance of such 
rara avis migrating. No, the Old Parties and 
I are still doomed to inhabit the same clime. 
Have you seen her lately?” 

“No.” 

“I called yesterday, and, ye gods! she looked 
awful! Why do such people live?” 

“Can’t die.” 

“It is queer. She started in on a complaint of 
her awful life, and I left. Horrors, I’d die !” 

“But if you could not?” 

“I would,” and Nancy looked as if she would. 
“Have you met Ed. Rice? You haven’t? You 
must ; he is fun. Come !” 

On the following evening Judge Richmond 
called, and this was one only of many. It seemed 
to Don that she could not again summon up 
courage to send him away from her. She often 
told him that he ought not to come, but she 
knew that she did not act her words. She 
blamed him and she blamed herself. She often 
said, “This ought to have been plucked in the 
bud, but now that we have gotten the full-blown 
flower we, neither of us, have the heart to pluck 
it; a blossom, even if it have flourished in barren 
soil, is prized by us; and although this one had 
developed amid misgivings and attempts at its 
destruction, it was nevertheless their blossom. 


363 


Angelward 


The plucking of a blossom is a first step in its 
death, and who cares to deal a death? Neither 
this man nor this woman was brave enough to 
see his love die. Don would have expected this 
brave act in others; in herself she hoped for the 
bravery to do it and yet at the same time she 
felt too weak. 


Angelward 


363 


CHAPTER L. 

The twenty-third of April was a typical day 
of that month; the sun had arisen at 5 124 A. M. 
with every promise of a fine day; the eastern 
sky was resplendent in roseate hues, but at 6:30 
it had become overcast and by 7 o’clock the rain 
was teeming down in torrents, disillusioning all 
minds as to the fairness of the day. Still hope 
springs high and burns for long despite all 
omens, and the old saying, “Rain before seven, 
clear before eleven,” buoyed up any whose plans 
had been frustrated. Only one woman in whom 
we are at all interested felt any great annoyance, 
and this one was Mrs. Richmond; she had 
planned a journey for this day. She abused the 
weather, everybody and everything. Providence 
included; did not see why she should be so pun- 
ished. No one paid much attention to her 
grumbling, as it was now a chronic state with 
her. Life was an unhappy existence for this 
woman, she had not even one small joy. By 
II o’clock, true to the old saw, it did clear and 
the sun shone with such brilliancy as to give any 
one, even this woman, hope of a fine day; it 
warmed alike the hearts of young and old, rich 
and poor, joyous and sad, gentle and hardened, 
all but this woman, who took it as nothing but 
right that it should shine on her plans. She 


3*54 


Angelward 


grudgingly said, ‘‘O, it will rain again in ten 
minutes!” It did not, but at half-past two it 
again poured down as if the very sky’s reser- 
voirs were opened ; as if the dykes of a Holland- 
in-the skies were unsluiced. The streets were 
literally running streams ; but, no, the rain should 
not upset her plans; with the determination of 
the spoiled woman she was she had made up her 
mind to have her own way, rain or shine, wise 
or unwise; in doing so she imagined that she 
was being strong-minded, that she had put all 
weakness aside; but it was rather the strong 
self-will of a spoiled human being, knowing 
no higher wisdom than its own sweet will ; a 
poor spoiled adult baby, who cries when she 
cannot have her rattle or defiantly snatches it; 
she fancied that she was showing her strength; 
Mrs. Richmond thought herself strong, mistress 
of her own fate to-day, and when her husband 
suggested that she should remain until to-mor- 
row, she was indignant. “Well, Adelaide, I think 
it is too wet for you to go.” She turned fiercely 
on him and said: “I shall go. I have made up 
my mind to go and I shall not change it; if I 
wait until to-morrow I may not wish to go. You 
do not want to go.” 

“It is you I am thinking of; a woman who 
has not been out of the house for months ought 
not to venture out in this rain; you may take 
cold.” 

“Well, I do not suppose that you will grieve 
much over that. I am going if I die; when I 
make up mind to do anything I do it. I am 
not weak.” 


Angelward 


365 

“Perhaps not; but it takes courage to undo 
one’s mind ; but as you are so determined, I 
shall order the cab for a quarter of four. It may 
clear, but I hardly think so ; it looks like a steady 
downpour.” 

“I shall be ready. Frankie, what are you do- 
ing?” 

“Packing your grip.” 

“Leave it alone,” and with an angry look she 
seized the child and pulled him angrily away. 
“Always in the way. George, take that brat 
away !” 

“Adelaide,” and Judge Richmond looked 
sternly at his wife, “I will not have you speak 
to the child in this way. He was only trying 
to assist you. You quite forget yourself.” 

“He annoys me; everything does. O, life is 
awful! Nothing is as it used to be,” and she 
threw herself sobbing hysterically on the bed. 
Her husband stepped up to her side and, putting 
his hand tenderly on her shoulder, said : “Don’t ; 
I know you are not as you used to be.” She 
turned quickly, sprang up from the bed, gave 
him one look, and then, before he could step 
back from her, struck him in the face, and then 
threw herself into a chair and groaned, “O I O I! 
it is awful I ! !” 

“Yes, indeed,” he muttered as he left the room, 
“awful! awful!! O, for a moment’s peace!!! I 
cannot endure it much longer.” 

For the next hour Mrs. Richmond kept one 
of the maids busy packing, unpacking and re- 
packing until the girl fled on an imaginary errand 
to the kitchen, where for a moment she sought 


Angelward 


366 

solace from the cook. ‘‘Darn it! I’ll not stand 
her much longer. She ought to be in a lunatic 
asylum. She’s mad.” 

“She’s possessed of the divil, and if I was the 
Jedge I’d trash it out of her; she’s no more sick 
nor I am ; it’s notions.” 

Things had gotten to an awful state. Mrs. 
Richmond had gradually grown worse and was, 
as this maid said, fit for an asylum. She had 
turned against her mother, who had gone off in 
great, high dudgeons, blaming the Judge for in- 
fluencing her daughter; but he, poor man, was 
innocent, as he left her severely alone and sought 
his small amount of comfort from Don. After 
going down stairs with Frankie, and leaving 
him in the library, saying to him, “Cousin Mary 
will be here soon to stay with you, dear, while 
we are away. Good-bye! be a good boy,” he 
rang up a cab, and, turning to the maid, said: 
“Kate, tell Mrs. Richmond that the cab will be 
here at a quarter of four. I have some business 
down town and I shall meet her at the station.” 

It was indeed an April day for Donalda Fen- 
wick. When she awoke it was raining, and it 
was much against her inclination that she arose, 
for she felt like rolling over, closing her eyes 
and forgetting the day, the Devil and all his 
works; and if she could have done so it would 
have been much better for her; but such an 
avoidance of destiny is not real life, and she, 
like the rest, was forced to arise and face the 
battles of the day, and rise or fall in them. As 
she looked out on the leadened sky, from which 
the rain was falling in torrents, she inwardly 


Angelward 


367 

shuddered, a gloomy feeling, foreign to her na- 
ture, possessed her; it seemed as if some dread 
event were hanging over her; she attempted to 
free herself, but did not succeed. All the time 
during which she was dressing herself she an- 
athematized the weather and things in general; 
everything seemed to go wrong; she put her 
clothes on inside out; then started to take them 
off; then remembered that it was bad luck to 
do so, and finally left them as they were. “Pretty 
sight! Wonder if this is a sample of the whole 
day’s work!” After breakfast she paid a call 
and got her mail and then returned to her office, 
where she opened the letters she had received. 
Two were advertisements — “perfect trash” — 
and she threw them into the fire. “A letter 
from Mr. Sharpe! Has gotten over his miffs, 
eh?” and she tore it open and hurriedly glanced 
over the first page, then stood stock still, gazing 
incredulously at its contents. “O!” and she 
sighed, then a scarlet blush suffused her face, and 
throwing the letter angrily down, she exclaimed : 
“Can’t he understand? Won’t he understand 
that he is only a friend, nothing more ? Heavens, 
these men! I knew that it was to be a day of 
it. Wants me to be his — ! O, it is absurd of 
him after all the disagreements we have had! 
I’ll soon settle this!” and seating herself at her 
secretary she hurriedly wrote a reply, and fling- 
ing it to one side folded her arms on the desk 
and, laying her head wearily on them, sighed: 
“Was ever fate like mine?” After maintaining 
this position for some time she flung herself on 
the couch and stretching her hands above her 


368 


Angelward 


head lay still and thought; her first excitement 
and anger over, she could now think. It was a 
habit of hers to think, and thinking with her 
meant placing herself in the situation of every 
one of the characters in this mental drama; it 
was a mental acting and therefore a task, joyful 
or sorrowful, wearisome or recreative, calm or 
tempestuous as the occasion demanded ; she 
could laugh often and weep occasionally in these 
seances; to-day she was in a tempestuous, in- 
dignant mood. The play began with Mr. 
Sharpe, then drifted on naturally to Dr. Hartz, 
Mrs. Richmond, the Judge and Dr. Bate, who 
had succeeded her in attendance on Mrs. Rich- 
mond. She could not forget this case, nor could 
any one in her position; it meant much to her, 
not from a medical point of view, but because she 
loved the Judge — she had been compelled to 
acknowledge the fact to herself. She went over 
the whole case from beginning to end, so far 
as it had an end, and she criticised Dr. Bate very 
severely; she detested him; so far in every case 
in which she had met him he had done his ut- 
most to overthrow her opinion and to ingratiate 
himself in the family; it was always accom- 
plished in such a clever manner that at the time 
its full significance did not appeal to her; but 
when she came to think it over, she could plainly 
and distinctly see the stroke in the dark. He 
was a man cold, cunning and unprincipled; so 
narrow-minded as not to be able to appreciate 
ability in any one who was at all likely to inter- 
fere with him in the eyes of the public. He had 
educated the greater part of the laity of Tecum- 


Angelward 


369 

seh to think that he was the Great I ; that if he 
thought so and so it was so, and there was no 
further need of any opinion on the case; if he 
said that Mrs. So-and-So would die, of course 
she would; no one else could possibly help her. 
Don was so broad-minded as to be made in- 
dignant by such conduct. He had perceived her 
ability and therefore was doing all in his power 
to prevent the laity from recognizing it. She 
had instinctively disliked him from the first, not 
knowing exactly why; but now that she knew 
him she ceased to wonder why. That he had 
failed to help Mrs. Richmond she had predicted 
from the first, and she had secretly gloried over 
it. What annoyed her was that while she had 
not been given a chance he was still being called 
in. They had expected miracles from her, but 
not from him. Don lay and thought and grew 
more and more annoyed, until at last she arose 
and after hastily shaking her clothing straight 
walked over to the secretary, took up the letter 
she had written and hastily re-read it. “Brutal, 
but I cannot help it,” and then flinging it down 
she stood toying with a pen ; the door opened 
and a man entered. She looked up, and there 
stood the objectional subject of her thoughts, 
the villian of the play. 

“How do, Miss Fenwick!” 

“Good-morning, Dr. Bate,” she replied in a 
somewhat chilly tone, at the same time thinking 
what has brought him here? No good, I war- 
rant. Speak o’ th’ deil and he appears. He 
looked down quizzically at her, as if to read her 
thoughts, then gazed around the room, which 


370 


Angelward 


was plainly but tastefully furnished. It was tidy 
and everywhere there were evidences of a wo- 
man’s hand. He looked first at the ceiling, then 
at the floor, tapping its oiled surface with his 
boot; and then walking over to the fire-place 
he gazed into the mirror at himself, leaned one 
elbow on the mantel and twisting his moustache 
looked down upon her as he might have on a 
lap-dog; his other hand, holding his hat, rested 
on his hip. After cooly regarding the room and 
its furnishing he looked superciliously down on 
Donalda, and with a sneer, which he usually as- 
sumed, said: ^‘You have not much comfort 
here.” 

'‘I have all that I require to make life enjoy- 
able.” 

“All that you can afford, I presume.” 

“Your statement may be more truthful than 
polite.” 

“Umph! How are you getting on, anyway? 
Much to do, eh?” 

Don coldly stared at him, and then said: “I 
did not know that you were interested in my 
affairs.” 

Nothing daunted he continued: “Not much 
coming in, eh?” 

“We shall not discuss my monetary affairs. If 
you have any business state it, and ” 

“Be gone, eh ?” and he merely twirled his 
moustache and the more sneeringly regarded her. 
“Well, I have a business proposition,” and then 
he paused as if to allow this much to strike root 
and arouse her interest, for he could not but 
see that she was antagonistic. With all a cruel 


Angelward 


371 


man’s pleasure in torturing any one or anything 
he was glorying in the discomfort he was forcing 
upon her. 

^‘Indeed!” 

“Yes, will you come into partnership with me? 
You have ability, for a woman.” 

“I do not pretend to have any other; I am a 
woman.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“Only too plainly; you are not hard to read.” 

“Well, will you? This other is not here nor 
there.” 

“No.” 

He raised his heavy eyebrows, but showed no 
other sign of surprise. “Don’t be so emphatic; 
such chances do not often come to a woman.” 

“I should hope not.” 

“Miss Fenwick,” and he stepped nearer to her, 
but still maintained the same position. 

“Dr. Fenwick.” 

“Pardon me. It does not seem correct to call 
a woman so, and, any way, I do not consider 
it any honor to her.” 

“Indeed! Only for mighty man, eh?” 

“You are sarcastic; but Dr. Graham is going 
out of our partnership; it is not usually known 
as yet, and I shall require an assistant.” 

“I should think that you would rather obtain 
such a recruit from the ranks of those whom 
you consider it correct to honor with the title of 
Doctor. No, I, under no consideration, could for 
one moment think of such a thing. You have 
been Dr. Graham’s lackey, but I shall nev^r be 


372 


Angelward 


yours. When I choose to be an assistant it shall 
be to a man.” 

'‘And I am not a man?” 

“Not as compared to some whom I know ; you 
have not the first instincts of one. Since you 
have exposed yourself to my criticism you may 
as well know once for all what I think of you. 
You are a low-born cad; you have no place in 
a gentleman’s profession ; you hold your stand- 
ing alone by the ignorance of the laity and your 
skill in bragging; but your day is short. How 
dare you call and make such a proposition when 
you know I cannot but despise you, or if I do 
not I am a fool.” 

“I am rather inclined to think you are,” and 
he smiled acidly. “But come,” and he made an 
attempt to conciliate her, “Dr. Fenwick, I do 
respect you and I do wish to assist you.” She 
looked at him for a monment, then curling the 
corners of her mouth smiled in a scornful man- 
ner. “Yes, I am sure you do; your conduct on 
many occasions testifies to it.” 

“You must not think that because I have got 
Mrs. Richmond that I have worked against 
you.” 

“Your supposition convicts you. You are not 
capable of wishing any one well ” 

“Is that the reason for your belligerent attitude 
towards me? Come, you must not so malign 
me. I have often wondered why you were so 
cool.” 

“You had not far to go to ascertain the 
reason.” 

“Mrs. Richmond was tired of you.” 


Angelward 


373 


“Yes, but through Mrs. Spencer. You had 
sent her word that you could cure her and you 
have done it. She is a credit to you.” 

“Gossip ! Surely you do not believe every idle 
tale that comes to you.” 

“You do not deny it.” 

“I do not affirm it.” 

“You cannot; but there is no use in bandy- 
ing words,” and she arose and took a step to- 
wards the door. 

“You have not considered it.” 

“It has received all it ever shall from me. I 
have forgotten it.” 

“You are precipitate; but, come, do consider 
it,” and Dr. Bate took a few steps nearer to her. 
“There is another little matter. H’m! this is 
only preliminary; one thing leads up to another. 
H’m— !” 

“It is one too many,” and Don advanced 
nearer to the door. 

“You will hear me out,” and he stood in front 
of her. “Will you be my wife? I admire you 
more than ever.” She flashed one indignant look 
at him and said : “Dr. Bate, you have gone too 
far. Your audacity is exceeded only by your 
ignorance, which is great. He whom I accept 
shall be a man and a gentleman, and you are 
neither.” He smiled insolently, and turning on 
his heel, and flourishing his hat, he said over his 
shoulder: “You will be sorry some day; you 
are throwing away a chance any other woman 
would gladly accept; but your brains doubtless 
stand in your light.” As indignant as if he had 
struck her, Don said “Go,” and then turned 


374 


Angelward 


away from the door. He passed out and she 
heard him run lightly down the steps, while she 
strode up and down the room, too angry to 
speak her thoughts aloud. Then the audacity 
and the absurdity of it all suddenly burst upon 
her, and she threw herself upon the couch and 
laughed hysterically. “The great fool! How I 
hate him ! Imagine ! The audacity 1 Two offers 
in one day! Well, one is a man. Him!” and she 
pounded a cushion. “Td kill him with hate. 
Won’t Nancy howl ! I’ll tell her ! I’ll let all 
Tecumseh know that he was rejected; he cannot 
endure defeat! He fancies that every woman 
wants him! Ugh! but it is always the way; the 
men one could love do not want her, and the 
ones who want her the devil himself would not 
have. There’s the sun out! I’ll run around and 
\t\\ Nan; it is too good to keep and it will amuse 
her; she hates him; and yet, no, I cannot tell 
it, it is too much of an insult. No, I shan’t; it is 
better to keep these things to one’s self. Well, 
old Risdon will probably be next.” 

After dinner she made a visit, going out in the 
bright sunshine to be caught in the heavy rain, 
which, besides some trying circumstances in con- 
nection with the case, caused her to return in 
anything but an amiable mood; in fact, she was 
in a decidedly bad temper. On arriving there 
she removed her wet clothing and arrayed her- 
self in a cardinal kimono, which to-day was 
becoming to her in her cloudy mood. There was 
a dark fierceness about her which was not 
natural. She seated herself before the grate to 
read. “I shall have some peace new. What 


Angelward 


375 


moods and tenses I have been in to-day. I will 
give up medicine; it is a dog’s life,” and she 
flung the New York Medical Journal into a far 
corner. “What care I about latest discoveries! 
I am hunting for the germ of impudence, it is 
the most prevalent and destructive. It will be a 
discovery to render Preventative Medicine a sure 
fact. Audacity! Cheek! All Gaul is divided 
into three parts ! I will do anything, scrub, wash 
dishes, anything but listen to pains and aches! 
“Well,” and here she was silent for a moment, 
“you have had two chances to-day. Yes, but — ” 
and she poked the fire — “chances — yes — chances 
— no — Well,” and she shuddered, “O! bother 
take it! I cannot do anything to-day, except 
think disagreeable thoughts. Weather? Yes, 
that’s it! Dr. Hartz is right, we cannot help it; 
it’s planets ! yes ; spirits ! yes ; devils ! yes ; men ! 
yes. I’m a regular April to-day, not for two 
minutes the same ; rain and shine ; mostly rain, 
though, and thunder, too! What shall I do next? 
What is my next move? What is the Judge do- 
ing? He will be in; I feel it in my bones, as 
mother says. Poor mother ! what would she 
think of me? But she never understood me. 
Ha! who’s that? It is only the wind. I am 
nervous to-day or fanciful. I cannot throw it 
off. Something is hanging over me. I know 
it,” and she shuddered and crouched nearer to 
the fire. “There is some awful fate overshadow- 
ing me!” She sat on in this way for what 
seemed to her a long time, but which in reality 
was only a few moments, when she was aroused 
from her dread reveries by the opening of the 


Angelward 


376 

outer office door by a well-known hand. There 
was scarcely a sound, and yet at times an almost 
imperceptible sound will attract our attention 
when a louder one will not be perceived by us; 
a whisper always carries far; this faint, almost 
non-sound seemed to touch her being. Was it that 
an electric current passed from him to her; did 
she feel rather than hear ; was a sixth sense played 
upon ; sensation rather than a first sense, or 
fourth ; did the mind hear, see, touch, rather than 
her external senses? By whatever sense which 
perceived it, she knew that Judge Richmond 
had opened the door and was walking across 
the outer room towards her. A beautiful smile, 
one that the heart fashions, overspread her face ; 
it came without an effort, but with an effort 
she strove to banish it ; as the gentle zephyr pass- 
ing by leaves a gentle waving of the grasses, as 
the setting sun throws a faint flush in the eastern 
sky, as the gentle wavelet leaves the tiny pebbles 
and the pink-cheeked shells glistening, so this 
smile left its softening, gladdening effect on 
Don’s face. The stern lines which had this after- 
noon changed her expression and had made her 
look dark and gloomy, were all relaxed ; the eyes 
that had had a dark fire smouldering in them 
were bright and joy shone in them ; and the man 
who approached her as she advanced to meet him 
felt the influence of the smile ; it was a glorious 
sunbeam shining on his poor, aching, frosted 
heart. Usually she allowed him to make all ad- 
vances, but to-day she was changed, and as soon 
as he had entered the inner room and had closed 
the door she rushed to him as lover to lover 


Angelward 


377 


and threw her arms around his neck and pressed 
her lips to his. She had at last yielded. He 
clasped his arms around her, and nothing but 
the murmur of her joyous breathing and his 
heartfelt, happy sighs could be heard. The wind 
sighed gloomily in the naked branches of the 
trees outside, the rain fell in torrents and 
drenched passersby trudging gloomily afoot; but 
they were forgotten and unheeded by these two, 
who lived for this moment and for each other. 
She unclasped her hands and straightened her- 
self and he led her to a chair, where he sat down 
and took her on his knee, and looking tenderly, 
fondly at her, said; ‘'O, my darling, my lovely 
girl ! I am so glad to see you. This has been 
an awful day and I could not remain away any 
longer,” and he pressed her closer to him. Her 
heard rested on his shoulder and she sighed con- 
tentedly. ‘Ts it not nice to be together?” he 
tenderly whispered. “This is Heaven for me. 
O, if you could only know how I love you, love 
every hair of your head! You are all I have 
to love.” 

“You must not talk in this way.” 

“But I will ; it is true, true, truer than the Gos- 
pel.” 

“It is not right.” 

“It is right, it cannot be wrong, for it is a 
pure love.” 

“But you must not,” and she drew herself away 
from him and rising stood in front of him. “No, 
you must not. I will not listen to you,” and she 
sat down in a low rocker, buried her face in her 
hands and sobbed, He sat quietly looking at 


378 


Angelward 


her for a few moments; then arising he ap- 
proached her chair and kneeling beside her, and 
taking her hands tenderly in his own, he said: 
‘‘Don’t, my dear. Forgive me for loving you 
so, but I cannot help it; I cannot help loving 
you; we cannot help it; we were made for each 
other and we had to come together sooner osr 
later; come, forgive me. You love me; you have 
shown it plainly to-day; do not deny it. I have 
only a few minutes to-day ; I am going to Toron- 
to with Mrs. Richmond on the four o’clock ex- 
press.” 

“O! I was so foolish; I am not myself to-day. 
I wish that I had never gotten up; it has been 
such a day!” and Don burst out into a fresh fit 
of weeping. The Judge took his handkerchief 
and gently attempted to dry her tears, but she 
refused to be comforted. “I hate myself ; I hate 
you ; and I hate everybody ” 

“No wonder,” and before either of them could 
speak a small, fair man stood in front of them, 
and fixing a piercing, malignant eye on Don, 
said: “Dr. Fenwick, I am surprised; but, no, 
I am not.” 

“What do you mean by intruding in this man- 
ner?” demanded the Judge. 

“I have more right than you think. I love 
this woman.” 

“You do!” and the Judge turned an indignant 
look on him; and then, looking questionably at 
Don, who had now risen and turning to Judge 
Richmond, said: “I will explain afterwards; 
leave Dr. Hartz to me.” 

“You confirm what he says?” 


Angelward 


379 


‘‘Yes — no — O ! I do not know.” and she looked 
appealingly at them both. “I will explain; but 
go now.” 

“Explain! Yes, when you have made a com- 
promise with this fellow. Good-afternoon 1” 
and before she could stop him he had passed 
out. She rushed to stop him, to explain, but the 
fair man prevented her; she turned an indignant 
look on him and at once regaining all her com- 
posure, said, “What brought you here?” 

“The knowledge that you are going to destruc- 
tion. I left my practice and all to save you.” 

“Exceedingly kind of you!” and she clenched 
her teeth. “What interest can you take in me 
now ?” 

“That of a man who loves you.” 

“Don’t reiterate such a lie; you cannot love 
any one ; no, not even a friend. No good has 
brought you here ; no, nothing but an insane de- 
sire to meddle. Fool that I was to ever tell you 
anything!” 

“You, in your ignorance, may say so, but I 
should have known ; I am informed by spirits.” 

“By a devil’s imagination !” and the girl looked 
down scornfully on him. 

“You may call it such, not knowing any better, 
but that does not make it so,” and he smiled su- 
periorly up at her. “I know every move of your 
life, even before it is played ; you are doomed.” 

“I cannot help it then, if it is so fore-ordained, 
can I?” and she looked searchingly at him. “I 
must then go to destruction, if your theory be 
true. Deny that and your spiritualistic bubble 
will burst.” 


38 o 


Angelward 


“If you place yourself in right hands you may 
still free yourself.’^ 

“How am I to know? If planets guide me 
how am I to have my say?” 

“If you had your horoscope you would then 
know, you would have foreseen this day, and 
you would have been prepared.” 

“I wish then that I had had the Devil’s 
time-table and there is one thing I would have 
foreseen.” 

“There was a time when you would have been 
only too glad to see me.” 

“That was before I knew or could imagine 
that such a cold-blooded animal as a man could 
exist. Leave me at once. I do not know, nor 
do I care to know, your object. I have forgotten 
you; as a disagreeable dream you have passed 
out of my life.” 

“Not so disagreeable once; but tell me,” and 
he came so near that she could feel his breath 
in her face, “why did you not make yourself 
known when you came to consult me?” 

“I had good reason for not doing so ; I could 
not ; you, you were not what I expected to meet,” 

“I wasn’t stylish enough ! I wasn’t good 
enough; my parents were too common! I, I 
wasn’t rich enough! No, I wouldn’t, but I will 
do, and you shall love no other! I am all the 
lover you shall ever have. I love you, I adore 
you ; but, but I will not marry you ! O, no ! I 
will not do that, and spoil my career. I won’t 
settle down ! No children for me ! No, no, 
nothing but fame for me, hard-worked-for 
fame, and your love! Yes, you love me and I 


Angelward 


381 

love you as no one else ever can ; that man’s love 
is nothing; it’s carnal, worldly; but mine’s pure, 
Heavenly; you’re my complement; but I can’t 
marry you ! O, no, I can’t !” Here he paused for 
breath and Don stood still, fixedly gazing at him 
as he poured forth this mad harangue ; then, re- 
treating a step or two, she said: “What has so 
recently changed the channel of your love to- 
wards me?” 

“I always loved you, but I was testing you and 
I have proven you; you are dross, but there is 
gold in you and I shall refine it; you are mine 
to save, to fit for mansions in the skies. It’s my 
task. I’ll purge you. I’ll make you whiter than 
the snow. I’m going hence and then I’ll guide 
you, guard you and love you. I’m your guardian 
angel, your instructor. I’ll go soon, to-day, 
maybe.” 

“The sooner the better, and then you shall find 
that annihilation is your lot. I am not afraid of 
you being my guide.” 

“You cannot kick against your fate; you are 
given to me. Never again shall you see that 
man ; I have a duty to perform before I go.” 

“You leave this town in ten minutes or I shall 
have you arrested,” and she pointed to the door. 
“You are insane, so get out,” and she opened the 
door wide; he rushed at it and slammed it to 
and stood facing her. “I shall go when I have 
finished my task here. Why did you deceive me 
with your fine theories and professions, causing 
me to think you a saint, an angel?” 

“There are black angels.” 

“Dr. Fenwick!” and he would have taken hold 


Angelward 


382 

of her arm had she not swiftly seized her oppor- 
tunity and opened the door and fled out into 
the hall, from which she rushed into a small 
room and locked its door. She stood there pant- 
ing; she could hear her heart beat; she listened 
for him to go out; at last he did leave, banging 
the door after him. She walked cautiously to the 
window, peeked out around the drawn blind and 
saw him walk quickly away down the street; 
and then realizing that she had escaped from 
a mad man. “Yes, he was mad,’' she clasped 
her hands over her beating heart and shuddered. 
She took a step backwards; she felt faint; she 
grasped for a chair, for some support ; she 
clutched the air; she was falling; no, she must 
not, and for a moment she braced herself, for he 
had said that he had a duty ; yes, it was ! and she 
must save him, and she attempted to hurry to the 
door, but all was darkness, scintillating lights 
and confusion and stillness, and she lay on the 
floor. 

How long she lay there she did not know, 
but her last thought before she became uncon- 
scious was her first on regaining consciousness. 
She must save him, and not thinking of her 
weak state she quickly arose and staggered and 
groped for the door; to prevent herself falling 
she grasped an old grandfather clock; she did 
not recognize it and passed her hand hurriedly 
over its surface in her eagerness to find the door 
handle; not finding it she clasped her hands in 
an agony of fear and despair and almost fell 
again. “What shall I do? Where am I? What 


Angelward 


383 

is this awful day? I must get out of here. I 
am smothering; I am dying!” and she gasped 
for breath. After a few moments she succeeded 
m finding the door and unlocking it; made her 
way as quickly as her trembling body would al- 
low her to her office. On arriving there she found 
it vacant, and letting herself sink into the low 
rocker she sat rocking herself backwards and 
forwards. Not a sound was heard except her 
hurried breathing and an occasional groan and 
sob and the ticking of the clock. She looked at 
it. It was five-thirty. “I must have been a 
Greadful time in that room. What was I doing? 
O, I was going to save him and I couldn’t; but 
1 must. I must tell him that that man means to 
kill him, but,” and here she relaxed her tense 
expression. “He is safe for to-day. He went 
to Toronto. Yes, his wife,” and she hysterically 
laughed. “He cannot get him to-day. He is 
mad. His spiritualism has ruined him; no, it is 
his madness that has made him a spiritualist. 
They are all mad. I must have him arrested; 
he is dangerous; but,” and here she shuddered, 
“I cannot; there will be explanations, and I can- 
not have them; but, but I cannot have him 
killed. O, how I love him, and yet he went away 
annoyed ! I must explain it all to him. He will 
know what to do. It is all that man. Why did 
he ever cross my path? I should have known 
that he was insane. Why did I tell him any- 
thing on which to build his wild fancies? O, 
I also was mad ! O, I am mad now 1 What shall 
I do?” and she arose and clinging to the mantel 
Uid her head on it. Her body waved as a strong 


Angelward 


384 

tree buffeted by a fierce gale ; it bent, tossed and 
groaned under the winds from the three quarters 
of the moral globe, anxiety, reproval and con- 
tempt. “I must save him, but it must be done 
quietly. I will write to him in Toronto ; he stays 

at , and he will receive it in the morning, 

and he — I mean him — cannot find him before 
then. That man must be intercepted and placed 
out of harm’s way ; but it must be done quietly. 
That is what I shall do,” and feeling a momen- 
tarily relief from action decided upon, she 
breathed more freely, although the marks of the 
fierce storm had not yet pasesd away. She fin- 
ished the letter and was drinking a cup of tea 
when Nancy Webster hurriedly entered, and 
throwing herself into a chair burst out crying. 

“What’s up, child ?” and Don looked anxiously 
at her, a fearful dread at her heart. 

“You’ve heard?” 

“Heard what?” and she felt almost angry at 
Nancy for keeping her in suspense. 

“Why! — Judge — I” she shuddered but en- 
deavored to be calm. She must act her part — 
“Richmond’s shot!” 

“Shot!” She could have screamed, she al- 
most fainted; but she steadied herself and said 
in a weak voice, “How ?” 

“A man,” and here Nancy, the announcement 
ever, plunged into her tale and forgot her tears, 
“A man called to see Mrs. Richmond, demanded 
to see her on some important business. She 
wouldn’t go down and the Judge went down, and 
as soon as he entered the room the man fired and 


Angelward , 385 

shot him, then shot himself. No one knows who 
the man is.” 

“And, and,” Don spoke hurriedly, as if afraid 
that the words would freeze on her lips, her 
breath was icy cold, “is he dead ?” 

“The Judge? No, but they hold out no hopes, 
and Mrs. Richmond, of course, fainted; but no 
one thinks of her. What can it mean? I have 
heard stories of the Judge, but I never believed 
them. Could it have been that this was some 
jealous husband?” 

“Don’t! don’t!!” 

“No, I won’t; but ” 

“I thought,” and Don looked instinctively at 
the letter she had just written, “I thought that 
they were in Toronto.” 

“She backed out at the very last; but that is 
her way. I should think that it would kill her — 
the shock, I mean — not the Judge’s death.” 

“It’s awful !” and Don clutched her chair. 

“Indeed it is. Well, I must run on; the Old 
Parties will be deep in lamentations ; I knew that 
you would be interested, knowing the Rich- 
monds. Say, Doctor, you look a bit ragged to- 
i-ight!” 

“It has been an upside-down day.” 

“I guess so,” and Nancy walked out of the 
office much to Don’s relief for she was almost 
beside herself. Was she too late? The room 
swam around her; the sea roared, and she was 
icy cold ; she staggered to the couch and throw- 
ing herself upon it clasped her hands in an agony 
of grief. “He will die and it is all my fault. I 
might have saved him, and O! O! he thinks me 

\ 


Angelward 


386 

untrue! Why was I born? I must go and see 
him, explain. O I I can’t let him die. I will go,” 
and hastily arising she put on her outdoor cloth- 
ing; then as quickly threw it off. “I can’t go. 
No, O ! the awful secretiveness of it all. O ! if 
he will only live. He must ! he must 1 1 he 
must 1 1 1” she almost shrieked. “It cannot be 
that I must lose him. O, God will not allow it! 
God !” and she was silent for a moment. “There 
is no God; no, there is none! Why am I so 
weak? It is only Nature and she never repents; 
if he must, he must die; O. if there only were a 
God ! O, for a faith, even if it be false ! Some- 
thing to cling to, an idol, anything, only some- 
thing except inexorable Nature ! If I could only 
scream; but no, I must keep this awful secret. 
I’m glad,” and she looked vehemently revengeful 
at an imaginary presence, “that he is dead. I’d 
kill him if he were not. He was insane; but, O, 
it ought not to have happened!” A sound was 
heard in the outer room, she arose and attempted 
to straighten herself; just then the door opened 
and an old Irish woman, an ardent admirer of 
Don’s, entered. 

“Savin’ yer prisince. Miss! I didn’t think ye 
heard me. Bless me ! but ye’re lookin’ all 
through-other, beggin’ yer parden for say in’ it.” 

“I have not felt like myself to-day. Weather !” 
and Don strove to smile. “What can I do for 
you ?” 

“It’s himself as oi wants a bottle fer; he’s no 
carin’ fur his victuals an’ oi’m thet onaisy fur 
fear off losin’ him; oi ses ter him, ses oi, oi ses, 
oi’m agoin’ ter bring the lady doctur ter ye; an’ 


Angelward 


387 

he ses, ses he, oi’ve nothin’ agin th’ lady doctur ; 
but oi haven’t no use fur med’cine an’ ef oi’m 
agoin’ ter die, oi’ll die an’ ef oi ain’t, oi aint, so 
there! An’ oi ses, ses oi, ye’re a fool! an’ ses 
oi, too, ter him, ye ain’t agoin’ ter die, fur oi’ll 
git a bottle, so there! An’ oi want it quick, an’ 
stout, too; an’ ain’t that awful ’bout the Jidge, 
poor man, an’ himself sich a foine man, an’ all 
that, an’ her so frail. Phwat could th’ man hev 
been thinkin’ on, an’ then shootin’ himself. It’s 
quare and nobody knows. They say as he’s 
sinkin’ fast. Poor feller, he was alius so lanient 
with th’ stray uns, whin ma boy Paddy,” and 
here she lifted the corner of her apron to her 
eye, 'Vas arrested, it was himself as comforted 
me an’ ma man, an’ let th’ boy off aisy; fur he 
said, ses he, he ain’t ter blame as much as t’other 
fellers. Them’s his words. Them’s taken as 
orter be left an’ them’s left as orter be taken; 
may God forgive me fur sayin’ it ! May God hev 
pity on his sowl ! It’s many th’ prayer oi’ll pray 
fur th’ loikes o’ him, sich a foine gentleman, an’ 
all that. Oi ses to himself, ses oi, oi ses, Shamus, 
if it had ben ye, it wouldn’t hev mattered; but 
the loikes off him, an’ thet poor Frankie an 
orphand ; fur it’ll kill th’ Missis.” 

Don hurried as fast as she could and handed 
her the bottle, saying, ‘T hope it will do him 
good.” The woman took it with many thanks, 
and showering blessings on her departed. 

“O!” she groaned, “such torture!” This was 
the awful tragedy of her life. Would she have 
to live ? “No,” and she walked toward her medi- 
cine cabinet and stretching out her hand seized 


388 


Angelward 


a bottle. It seemed to be glued to the shelf ; some 
invisible hand drew away her arm, and there was 
the tearful face of her mother bending over her. 
'‘I can’t,” she groaned. '‘I have to live,” and 
she sank into a chair. O, mother memories that 
save us ! 

Nancy had given an accurate account of the 
affair, and that night at ten o’clock Mrs. Rich- 
mond lay in one room, passing from one faint- 
ing fit into another; the Judge lay dead in an- 
other room, and a small child wept as if his heart 
would break outside the door, refusing to be re- 
moved ; and the assassin lay at the undertaker’s, 
awaiting an inquest and identification. The 
child’s sobs rent the very air, and no one could 
soothe him, until Kate, the maid, said, 'T’ll send 
for Dr. Bate if you don’t stop.” 

“Get Dr. Fenwick, get her,” and he arose from 
the floor, and taking the maid’s hand dragged 
her to the telephone. At half-past ten Don was 
aroused from her grief by a loud peal of the 
telephone. The message was: “Frankie wants 
you, come. The Judge is dead.” She could 
hardly answer, “Yes.” Yes, she would go; she 
could do this much for him. He was gone, but 
his child called for her. The tears at last es- 
caped. She must now live life afresh, live alone 
for others. She had not been all to blame, and 
yet she had ; if she had been strong it would not 
have happened; if she had been discreet; it was 
all the result of the imaginings of a jealous 
mind, i. e., his, the madman’s, part in it ; it was 
not of supernatural agency. If she had done her 
duty, had not listened to Love’s alluring voice, 


Angelward 


389 

had lived for him and not for self, how different 
the result! “Duty, not Love, is the Law of 
Life.” She hurried to the house and found the 
child standing in the hall, the picture of grief. 
He rushed to her and clasping his arms around 
her neck, sobbed, “O, my daddy’s gone!” She 
presesd him to her. She could not speak; was 
she not the cause of his bereavement? “O!” 
and she groaned and laid her head down close 
to his. He looked up. “You sorry, too?” 

“Yes, dear.” 

“You love him?” She did not, could not, 
answer. “You love him?” he again demanded. 
“What you crying for?” and he patted her wet 
cheek. “People don’t cry if they don’t love him.” 
What could she say? Just then Kate passed and 
Frarkie’s attention was directed to her. He 
watched her movements, and then sliding down 
from Don’s arms he took her hand and said, 
“Come,” and he led her upstairs and outside of 
the room in which his dead father lay. He at- 
tempted to turn the handle, it was locked ; he 
was about to raise his foot to kick the door, 
when she said: “Don’t, Frankie; wait a mo- 
ment.” Was she outside of his room? She drew 
the child quietly away and said, “Let us sit 
down here,” and they entered the sitting-room. 
She rocked the child in her arms until he at last 
fell asleep; she attempted to lay him down, but 
he grasped her and refused to let her leave him; 
50 she sat on with him in her arms It was an 
awful night; no one seemed to know of her 
presence save Kate, and she was busy; she sat 
there undisturbed. The darkness changed to 
dawn ; the sun arose bright and shed his roseate 


390 


Angelward 


hues over the eastern sky and bathed Frankie 
and her in its splendor. This was worse than 
the night, but it was hope. She must forget the 
past, it was behind her; no, rather it was before 
her as a lesson to her. He was dead, but she 
was in this world, and she must live like other 
people. She had sought to be free, to be ad- 
vanced; but she had failed. The world needed 
its religions yet ; it could not exist without them. 
It was not materialism; it was not spiritualism; 
it was Christ. Yes, she had need of a God ; but 
what God could so rob her of her Loved One? 
Yes, there he lay dead! She groaned. It was 
awful ! She loved him ; that woman, his wife, 
did not, and yet she lived to mourn him after the 
fashion of the world, while she, Don, could 
mourn for him only alone in the solitude of her 
heart, no outward sign could there be. If she 
could only make some outward sign of grief, 
what a relief 1 But, no, there was none for her. 
She had need of a God, a silent supporter. With 
the sleeping child in her arms she knelt and 
prayed, to whom, to what, she did not know ; but 
to something. She felt soothed and better. Why 
she did not know. She ceased to rebel. A pres- 
ence was near her. What, who was it? A 
loving hand rested on her shoulder and a loving 
voice whispered gently in her ear, “Poor child, 
you have sufYered, I can sympathize with you. 
I, too, have loved and lost.” It was her mother’s 
voice, it was her mother’s face. 

So far have we gone with Donalda Fenwick 
on her life’s journey, her tragedy — and what life 
is there without one? — has come to her; it shall 


Angelwaru 


391 


tinge her future life. Kaleidoscopic has been her 
career so far, but such is life ; life is not the evenly 
woven Brussels carpet pattern; no, rather is it 
the roughly built bird’s nest, here a thread, there 
a piece of twine; here a feather, there a cotton 
rag ; here a stick, there a leaf ; it is the patched 
coat of many colors, the tramp’s coat; the ragged 
coat of what might be. As a child she had 
thought and needs must be a lonely child; as a 
woman she thought and needs must be a lonely 
woman ; but with a heart full of love for other 
lonely souls. Her weakness was her desire to be 
free, to make others free, to hasten “Angel- 
ward.” 



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